Common Ground
by Caeria
Summary: Co-written with deb. Caitlin and Archangel investigate the murder of Michael's brother while finding themselves involved in an even larger conspiracy. Along the way, they explore their own growing attraction to each other. Story will also be cross-posted to AO3.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Many months ago, I fell into a bit of a nostalgic mood and went looking for fic from some of my favorite TV shows when I was a kid. One of them was Airwolf. I found stories and they helped soothe the fic-reading urge, but I wanted to read something with Michael and Caitlin and I discovered that there weren't a whole lot of stories featuring the two of them. So in grand fanfic fashion, I decided I needed to write the story I wanted to read. However, I had just come off writing a multi-year Harry Potter story and the thought of another long story made me cringe. So I asked if anyone out in the fic community was interested in co-writing a story. Deb answered. (see her profile here:  www . fanfiction ~ deb ) This story wouldn't have been written without her. She wrote half the story, corrected my mistakes, suggested plot points, fixed grammar, did a ton of research and made the story possible. Many thanks to her. –Caeria

 **Common Ground**

 **Chapter 1**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

It had been a long day. It was turning into a longer evening.

"Hawke, I'm fine." She was fairly certain it was the tenth time she'd said it. Unfortunately, Stringfellow Hawke didn't look any more convinced this time than he had the first nine.

"Caitlin, you were almost killed today."

The temper she'd been holding in check for most of the evening flared. "Look buster, I think I know that. I was there, remember?"

Caitlin clenched her fists to hide the shaking. If String or Dom saw the tremors they'd never leave and she didn't want to explain what was really wrong with her. She had to get them out of her house before the fraying grip she held on her temper snapped, and she said something that was unforgivable. She could just imagine that conversation: _"String, you want to know what you can do to help me? Well, I'll tell you. I'm as worked up as a cat in heat and you are looking like a mighty fine tom."_ She bit her lip to hold in the laughter as her imagination conjured up String's reaction to that scenario. She might have had a fantasy or two – he was a good looking man and he had that whole brooding thing going for him – but String had placed her firmly into the little sister category soon after she'd shown up at Santini Air and there was no getting out of it. As her momma would say, 'It was a damn shame.'

She finally appealed to the one person in the room who wasn't fussing over her. The one who claimed, at least, that he had stopped in to debrief her, rather than to make sure she was alright. "Michael, will you please tell them that I'm fine and they can go home."

Michael gave her a lingering stare that left a little voice whispering in the back of her mind that Hawke wasn't the only tom in the room. A voice she firmly squashed as he rose from his chair. "Gentlemen, I believe that the lady's mind is made up. She wishes to be alone and our continued presence is neither appreciated nor advisable."

 _Finally, sanity among the chaos._ Thanks to Michael leading the way, she got the three of them herded out of her door with a promise to call if she needed anything. As the door closed behind them, she sagged against the wood in relief. She loved String and Dom. She really did. But sometimes their overprotectiveness got on her nerves. It was like they could only see her as "the girl" and not as a competent, mature woman and a part of the Airwolf crew. _She'd been a member of the Texas Highway Patrol, for goodness' sake. She ran five miles nearly every morning. She knew martial_ _arts. She could field strip a 9-millimeter faster than Hawke could._

Caitlin thumped her head back against the door and blew out a breath. "Yet some guy flirts with you and you turn into an emotional mush ball and get yourself kidnapped." _Maybe they were right. Maybe she was that naive, helpless gir_ _l t_ _hey all saw her as, after all._

She looked down at her hands, which were still trembling just a little. Too much adrenaline. Deciding that self-pity wasn't going to get her anywhere, she pushed away from the door. It was time for a hot shower and her comfiest clothes, then maybe some television. Given how tightly she was wound, she knew she wouldn't be getting much sleep. "Shower. Clothes," she repeated out loud, grounding herself before heading for her bedroom.

She was toweling her hair dry when she heard the doorbell. Groaning in frustration, she tossed the towel in the direction of the bathroom and stomped out into her living area. Unlocking the door, she yanked it open. "Damn it, String, if you don't-" The righteous tongue-lashing she'd been about to deliver died on her lips as Archangel stood on her small porch, his weight resting on the silver-headed ebony cane held in front of him.

Caitlin blinked at him in confusion. She'd halfway expected Hawke to show up before the night was over. She might even have laid odds on Dom, but the possibility of Michael returning was something that had never once crossed her mind.

"May I come in?" he asked, amusement evident in his voice.

She realized she was still standing there in the doorway and backed up with a sigh, gesturing him to enter. As he moved past her, she caught the faintest hint of his cologne, something that smelled warm and spicy. It struck her as being rather at odds with his preferred dress of all white. She would have imagined he'd go for something crispier, cleaner, with a sharper edge to it.

Abruptly, she realized that she was sniffing Michael. _Archangel, of all people._ She shook her head, banishing those thoughts. _Lord, but she had it bad tonight. Why couldn't they all just leave her alone before she made a complete spectacle of herself?_

Without actually waiting for an invitation, he settled into the spot on her couch that Dom had been warming earlier, his ever-present cane set off to one side. Keeping her distance, she walked to the far end of the room, not that it was all that far away in her tiny little apartment. "Michael, why are you here? I thought you agreed with me that everyone should go home."

"No, technically I agreed that it would be best if Hawke and Santini left. It was obvious from your body language that you were uncomfortable with their presence. Something was bothering you earlier. Something you didn't want to share with them."

She took a few strides across the room, needing to move. "So what makes you think I'd want to share with you?" It came out a little sharper than she'd intended, but he didn't look offended.

He gave her a small shrug. "Because I'm neutral territory? Because I was there today? Because you need someone who will listen without judging you? I had my reservations in the beginning, I admit, but you are part of the Airwolf team. That makes you part of my team."

She took another turn around the room. Everything always revolved around that damn helicopter. "So, you're here because you're concerned about the Lady."

He let out a small sigh and shifted on the couch. "It's my job to be concerned about Airwolf and anything that might affect her. I don't deny that. That doesn't mean that I can't also be concerned about her crew." He paused. "Another facet of my job is reading people. It's clear that something is bothering you, and it's something you don't want to discuss with Hawke or Santini. If you want to talk it out, I'm a good listener." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm also fairly decent at keeping secrets."

"Michael, really, I'm okay."

"Then why are you pacing around your living room like a caged animal?"

She stopped in the middle of the room, shoulders sagging as she gave him a sheepish grin, knowing she'd been busted. "Okay, you win. I'm not fine. But it's not that I'm all emotional and falling apart. I'm not even all that upset. Not in the way that String or Dom or you think. I'm just . . . I'm just–"

"Just?" he prompted

She huffed out a breath and threw up her hands in frustration. "As everyone insists on reminding me, I was nearly blown up today. And yes, I've been in dangerous situations before and that's not the part that's got me all twitchy. It just eats me that I almost died because I'm stupid. Because I thought that a man like Ken Sawyer could actually like me." Her voice was steadily getting louder but she couldn't seem to control it as the emotions she'd been holding back tumbled forth. "And, you know what the worst part was? I almost died trussed up like a God-damned Christmas turkey. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't move. I couldn't even tell Babe anything about how Sawyer had rigged that bomb because he had me blindfolded while he did it."

"You couldn't fight back." His words were quiet, calm in the face of her frustration and they broke her out of her rising spiral of anger like a splash of cold water against her skin.

"Yeah," she agreed. She took in a deep breath and then let it out slowly before starting again, this time in a slightly more normal tone of voice. "All that adrenaline – all that anger – just started swirling around inside without an outlet. There's nothing wrong with me. I've just got a good case of the F's. That's all." Even as she was speaking she'd started her agitated pacing again, carefully avoiding looking at Michael, not wanting to see his reaction to her little outburst. She wasn't entirely sure he'd understand. Even in the most stressful situations, Michael had always seemed to be completely cool and collected. It was rather embarrassing that he was seeing her like this now when all she wanted was for him to go away so she could throw something against the nearest wall and have a good cry to get it out of her system.

"The F's," he said softly.

Caitlin suppressed a groan. She could feel her face reddening. _Damn it. She should have known better than to say that._ Racking her brain for a way to explain away the comment, she finally swung around to face him. "Yeah. Standard fear response. Fight or flight."

"Fight or flight, Caitlin? Don't you mean fight or . . . fuck."

 _Crap_. Since she had learned it while she was with the highway patrol, she shouldn't be surprised that he knew the term, but hearing the word "fuck" come out of Michael Coldsmith Briggs III's mouth sent an unexpected shiver through her. _Which really wasn't helping_. Nor was the tiny smirk that just lifted one corner of his mustache.

"That's why you were so adamant about pushing Hawke and Santini out the door."

She made a face, but didn't even try to deny it. "If they'd stayed five minutes more I was about to pick a hellacious fight with String and probably get myself fired."

He was studying her, head cocked slightly to the side, that tiny little grin still in place. "I wouldn't have expected fighting to be your first choice."

She let out a shaky laugh and scrubbed her hands up through her hair. "Yeah, but when we got out of there, I let my emotions get the better of me and I kissed String. You saw. I kissed him. He didn't kiss me back." She gave a half-hearted shrug. "I know where I stand with him. String thinks of me as his kid sister . . . no, fighting would've been it for sure."

On her next pass across the room, one of his hands snagged her wrist and brought her to a standstill. "Caitlin, why aren't you picking a fight with me?"

She was looking anywhere but at him. "I'm trying to?" Somehow, it came out sounding more like a question than an answer.

"You're not trying very hard." He tugged on her hand, pulling her towards him.

"Michael–"

He tugged again, his hand insistent on hers until she was standing in front him. "Come here." Frowning slightly, unsure of what he wanted, Caitlin shifted so she could sit down next to him on her couch, but he stopped her, reaching out his other hand to her hip. "No, come _here_." When he gave another tug to her hand, Caitlin let him pull her down until she found herself straddling him.

Caitlin cursed being a red-head as she felt her face flush with embarrassment, and if she was honest, the beginnings of arousal. She shifted slightly, all too aware of her perch. She was sitting in his lap, and Lord help her, but he felt good beneath her – solid and warm with just a hint of that spicy aftershave teasing her sense of smell. _How did she get herself into these situations?_

"Now, we can have a proper. . . fight, was it? Or fu-"

"Michael!" She stopped him before he said the word again.

He gave a little huff of laughter before moving his hands to her hips. "I do understand, you know."

Still avoiding his gaze, she stared down at the weave of his sweater as if it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. If he could carry on a conversation with her sitting in his lap, then so could she, although she did wish his thumbs would quit rubbing those little circles over her hips. It was distracting. "D-Do you?" She took a quick breath to get her composure. "You always seem cool and collected. So very in control."

"You've seen me out of control."

"I have?"

"Germany." His voice went flat with the word.

That was something she didn't want to remember. "That doesn't count. You were drugged." _Drugged, and God only knew what else they had done to him._

He shrugged. "It doesn't do to see a Firm Deputy Director panic. It does little to instill confidence in one's people."

Knowing she couldn't hide forever, she raised her eyes, frankly studying him, much as he'd earlier studied her. She was seeing him in a different light than she had before, suddenly remembering the way he talked to her, to his staff, even to String sometimes. "You're good at that. Instilling confidence in others." She grinned slightly. "Or, in String's case, making him angry. Whatever works to keep someone going."

His expression turned wry and bit self-mocking. "The phrase you're looking for is manipulative bastard."

She shook her head. "I thought I was going to be blown into a thousand tiny little bits. I should have been screaming my head off. You kept me sane." She shrugged. "It might have been manipulative, but—" she dared to tease him just a tiny bit – "at least you use your powers for good."

With obvious deliberation, he ran his gaze over her perch in his lap. "Only for good? Are you sure?" he asked, running his fingers up the outside of her thighs.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I do believe that you're manipulating me right now."

The smirk, the one that made her stomach do loops, was back. "Maybe a little," he acknowledged. "Although I swear that _this-"_ he made a vague gesture to the way she was sitting on him "-was not my goal when I came back to check on you. My intentions _were_ noble."

"Were?" she repeated, catching his emphasis on the word.

A sort of wicked glee lit up his face. "Were. Most definitely past tense."

She studied him again and wondered at his real reasons for propositioning her. He was everything that was out of her league – handsome, brilliant and worldly. She had no illusions; before today, he'd probably given her very little notice. She had his attention now though. This extremely dangerous and powerful man _saw_ her. It was quite possibly the biggest turn-on she'd ever had in her life and she wanted to keep that attention, even if for just a little while longer.

"Why me, Michael? You have any number of-"

He stopped her. "I was there too, Caitlin. Babe's the expert. I was just as helpless as you were. Just as powerless." He grinned at her. "Of course, I wasn't trussed up like a Christmas turkey." His grin turned into a full blown smile. "Would you believe that I considered picking a fight with Hawke?"

She laughed. "No. Well, yes. But then, you seem to do that a lot anyways." She turned serious. "You can't exactly proposition any of your people, can you?"

"No, that would be unwise. For any number of reasons."

Time had come for a decision, then. _Was she really going to do this? Take what he was offering?_ If she was honest with herself, she knew it was what she wanted. Sliding forward in his lap, she pressed her hips tight against his. He was half-hard and she couldn't deny that it fueled her own arousal to know she'd done that to him, doing little more than sitting on his lap. With the tiny shred that remained of her self control she kept herself from rolling her hips against him. Leaning so she was almost nose to nose with him, she stared into that single, very blue eye and let a slow smile spread across her face. "I'm not one of your angels."

The look she got in return was approval shot through with lecherous intent. For one brief moment she wondered what she'd gotten herself into, but then he leaned in and kissed her. It wasn't the aggressive, alpha-male kiss she was expecting, but a kiss so soft she barely felt the touch of lips and the faint tickle of his mustache against her. It was enough though to have every nerve in her body singing and for the adrenaline to once again start pounding through her veins. Whispered words against her left ear sent shivers down her spine. "Pay attention Caitlin, I'm about to manipulate you."

She shuddered at the words, knowing that was exactly what he'd intended.

"You didn't have any control today. You were going to live or die at someone else's whim. Do you want a little of your power back? I can give it to you." He paused, building her anticipation, teasing her curiosity. "You're in complete control, Caitlin. I'm yours to do with as you please. Anything you want."

As the shock of his words went through her, a hundred images flashed through her mind. _Oh, sweet mercy, he was good._ A few simple words and her imagination had done the rest. Still almost nose to nose with him, she decided to test the waters a little. Holding his gaze she slowly rolled her hips forward. She was rewarded for her action with a swift gasp of air. He was fully aroused now, hard and solid between her outstretched thighs. She repeated the movement before leaning in to kiss him, sinking her fingers into his hair.

 _Soft_ registered somewhere in her brain, but she was too focused on the lips beneath hers to think of much else. From her position in his lap, she was slightly taller than he was, lending her a sense of power and control that she reveled in. Starting slow, she barely grazed his lips with hers, once then twice. Head tilting to the side for a better angle, she swept her tongue lightly along his bottom lip. When Michael's lips parted on his next gasp of air, she took advantage, turning the kiss by slow degrees deeper and more aggressive.

She was dimly aware of his hands, warm weights cupping her shoulders and holding her to him. Not that she was planning on going anywhere.

Her fingers, still tangled in his hair, slid down his scalp, her nails scratching lightly. He groaned softly in pleasure as her fingers trailed along his neck. Grinning slightly into her next kiss, she worked her hand down his chest until her fingers could slip beneath the sweater he wore. As she touched him, she felt him tense. Something about his reaction seemed off, and she pulled back slightly, letting her fingertips remain where they were, resting lightly against the warmth of his undershirt beneath the sweater.

"Michael?"

His eye was closed and he was panting lightly from their shared kisses. When he opened his eye, the pupil was dark and hazy. He met her gaze and swallowed. If he was anyone else, she would have said it was nervousness. That was completely ridiculous, considering she'd never known the spymaster to be anything but confident.

Reaching up, he brushed back a few strands of her hair, his light touch at odds with the dark emotions she could see flitting across his face. "There's something I probably should have told you up front. This is a bit of a mood dampener I'm afraid, but have Hawke or Santini ever mentioned how I came by my injuries?"

She suddenly felt like an idiot, but his injuries had really never crossed her mind. She had never known Michael without the limp or the glasses with the single dark-tinted lens. They were all just part and parcel of what made Michael – Michael. Leaning forward slightly, she let the touch she had on his waist turn into a slow caress. "Hawke has never said anything. Dom . . . once I asked him about how Hawke ended up with Airwolf. All he said was that The Lady's creator turned on you and the Firm and that he stole her before destroying the test facilities. You came to Hawke and Dom to steal her back." She shook her head. At the time, she hadn't taken Dom's words literally or consciously made the connection, but now it fully clicked in her mind. Caitlin's hand stilled, resting at his waist. "You were there, weren't you? At the test facility."

He nodded. "I was." He swallowed again. "The first few days, I wasn't expected to live, but I was too damn angry to die. Moffett had killed too many of my people. I couldn't allow him to get away with it."

 _Oh, Michael._ She didn't say anything though, knowing he'd only interpret her compassion as pity.

He gave her a small tight smile as he continued. "Not the best of motivations, but revenge was all I had at that point. The doctors couldn't save my sight and wanted to amputate my leg."

She couldn't help the quick glance downward towards his still intact leg, a leg she was currently straddling. "They didn't."

His smile turned fierce. "No they didn't. We . . . compromised."

"Compromised?"

"They saved my leg and I didn't fire them."

She shook her head with a soft laugh. "It pays to be the Deputy Director."

He shrugged, completely without remorse. "Rank and arrogance do have their advantages. So does brute stubbornness. Three months later I limped out of the Firm's hospital facility and bullied Hawke into helping me take down Moffett and bring back Airwolf." He shifted, bringing one hand up to cover hers where it rested against his ribs. "All of that is history. But I thought that—" He trailed off as his fingers tightened on hers. The smile he gave her was guarded. "I am still yours to do with as you please. I just wanted to warn you. The scars are. . . extensive. If you wish to reconsider. . . we _could_ do this with our clothes on. . . ."

He left the words hanging there between them.

"How long has it been?"

"I left the hospital two and half years ago."

She wasn't sure how to ask what she really wanted to know so she just plowed forward, tact be damned. "No, I mean, has anyone . . . I mean, have you-"

He cut her off with a low chuckle. "No. For a while I wasn't in any shape to-" He shook his head. "Afterwards, I never put myself in that position. It was easier that way."

"Until now."

"Until now," he agreed.

Sliding a second hand beneath the sweater, she tugged upward and soon Michael was helping her slip the material over his head. The undershirt had ridden up and she could just see a tracery of scars, both surgical and not, etched across the skin of his abdomen. She let herself look and then moved past the marks.

"This," she said, plucking at the hem of his undershirt, "Has to come _off_. Lean forward a little."

"Bossy, aren't you?" he complained, but he still complied, letting her take the lead. She knew exactly what she was going to do with her sudden new found power. Sliding her fingers against the warmth of his skin she swept the undershirt up and over Michael's head. She could see more of the web of scars now. They were concentrated along his left side, stretching from his collarbone, across his upper arm, and then down his side before disappearing into waistband of his slacks. As they went down his body the marks changed, becoming deeper and more jagged, his skin the canvas of a mad artist who had painted in blood and fire. It was no wonder that he'd been hesitant about seeking out female companionship.

"Not a pretty sight, is it?" There was a hesitation before he continued. "But by comparison to my leg. . ." He was watching her, she noticed, waiting for her reaction, waiting to see if she would pull away. There were insecurities there, she realized, doubts about whether he was the man he used to be. From where she was sitting, that notion was completely ridiculous. The only thing it did was make him more human – more Michael – and a little less of the intimidating, untouchable Archangel.

She chose her words carefully, knowing the wrong ones might mean he'd never bare himself to a woman again. "You survived. That's what matters. It's the only thing that matters."

Apparently, it was the right thing to say as Caitlin felt some of the tension bleed out of him. It wasn't enough though. She wanted him to be completely relaxed and unselfconscious with her.

She smoothed her thumbs across his collarbones, realizing for the first time how much strength had been hidden beneath the protective layers of his clothing. And if some small part of him needed her validation that he was still desirable, she had no qualms with giving it. Regardless of the scars criss-crossing his body, she did find him damn sexy. Sliding her hands to his shoulders, she leaned forward to kiss him, pressing herself against his chest.

Her actions brought an answering gasp from him that had her smiling into the kiss. Rising slightly on her knees she shifted her angle until her lips were slanted just perfectly across his. Her tongue stoked his, teasing his senses before retreating and allowing him to follow, only to deftly tangle her tongue with his once more before finally pulling back.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" he grumbled.

She gave him a saucy grin. "I haven't even started yet," she said, before moving on, nuzzling along his jawline, feeling the prickle of stubble against her lips. He tilted his head back with a groan, allowing her greater access to his neck. Nibbling downward, she cataloged every twitch and sigh. He was incredibly sensitive, and she wondered how much of it was because it had been so long since he'd been with a woman. She licked the hollow behind his ear and felt him shudder. "Good spot," she purred, pleased with his reaction.

Her lips still against his neck, she felt him chuckle. "Shh. It's a secret weakness. Keep doing that and I'll tell you everything I know."

"Guess you're lucky I'm not a Russian agent, then." She moved further downward. Pausing to press her lips against his pulse point, she could feel the beat of his heart, rapid and strong, mirroring the effect her touch was having on him. Continuing, she mouthed along a long ropy scar that slashed across his collarbone. "I can't imagine what you went through," she murmured against his skin before she slid backwards, angling herself to keep most of her weight on his good leg.

"Don't."

"Don't?" she asked.

"Don't coddle me, Cait. Please." His hands came up, clasping her around the waist. He slid her over until she was once again seated squarely across his thighs.

"I don't want to-"

"If I need you to move, I'll tell you." His long fingers rested lightly just above her hips. "For now at least, you're fine right where you are."

She gave him a slow nod of understanding. If she didn't want to be treated like a helpless, naive girl, she could completely understand him not wanting to be treated as if he was crippled.

Letting him hold her steady, she busied herself with his belt, undoing the clasp but not bothering to pull it from the loops. He was watching her again, pupil dilated wide until only the faintest ring of blue showed. She smoothed the back of her fingers up his length through the fabric of his pants just to watch his lashes flutter down.

The button of his slacks came loose easily. The sound of the zipper, loud in the quiet of the room, reopened his eye. He didn't say anything, but she could see the curiosity there. He was wondering about her intent. Reaching back, she grabbed his wrists from around her waist and placed his hands back on the couch cushions before sliding off his legs and moving to kneel between his outstretched thighs. "Lift."

There was the tiniest flash of that smirk again as he lifted up his hips. _Lord, after tonight seeing that smirk was going to do terrible things to her._

Michael's slacks and underwear slid down easily. The scaring to his leg was even worse than she had expected. Grafted skin covered uneven flesh, hinting at major damage to the muscle and bone beneath. _No wonder he limped. It was a miracle he was still walking._ But the scars were not what was holding her attention. Michael was full aroused, his erection, long and thick, curving slightly upwards towards his belly. Glancing up, she watched as his lips parted on a shuddering breath. Holding his gaze, she lightly ran her hands up his thighs, her fingers spread wide so that her thumbs traced up the sensitive skin along his inner thigh. Reaching his hips, she curled her fingers against his hipbones, anchoring him into the sofa cushion. Michael had been celibate for two and half years and Caitlin was about to do her damnedest to make up for every moment of it.

Leaning forward she ignored his straining erection for now, instead licking at the curl of fine blond hairs that led down Michael's lower belly. His stomach muscles tensed and relaxed as he sucked in a gasp of air.

She nuzzled downward, running the point of her tongue along the crease when his thigh and hip met. He bucked sharply, unable to control his reaction. Giving a pleased little hum, she moved further down, pausing to taste the skin along his inner thighs.

"Caitlin." There was a question there.

"You said anything I wanted." She blew a stream of air against his thigh where she had just licked.

"I didn't think you would . . . I never thought . . ."

Caitlin suppressed a smile. It amused her greatly that the great Archangel couldn't seem to get his words out. "You're trying to tell me you're not enjoying-"

"God, no. Yes. I mean-" He lost the words and simply groaned as Caitlin licked a broad stripe up his erection.

Shifting her hands, one came to rest against his lower belly while the other firmly grasped the base of his erection. Licking and nibbling softly she set about learning everything that Michael liked. Every gasp or twitch was rewarded with more of the same. When his legs fell open even further, she took that as an invitation and cupped his heavy sack, her thumb brushing over the delicate skin in subtle patterns that earned her something that sounded very close to a whimper.

She chanced a glance upward to find Michael, eye closed and his head thrown back on the sofa. His skin was flushed; his chest gleamed softly with a fine coating of sweat. He was utterly beautiful and Caitlin once again thrilled to the knowledge that, at least for tonight, he was hers.

Her tongue flicked out again, following the heavy vein upwards until she reached the head. A broad, flat stroke of her tongue and Michael's entire body jerked in response. Salty bitterness. Musk. Power. She could get to like this manipulation thing.

His hips were making tiny involuntary jerks upward and she increased the pressure of her hand against his stomach, pinning him back against the couch. Readjusting her position between his outstretched legs, she settled in, swirling her tongue before taking in deep throated pulls, all the while twisting the hand wrapped around him in counterpoint to her movements.

She'd known when she started that he probably wouldn't last long. He was already close, his hips moving constantly now while whispered words of encouragement tangled together just below her hearing. So close and Caitlin wanted him to fall, and fall hard.

His fingers were suddenly carding through her hair. Not pushing or pulling, simply there. Caitlin looked up. He was watching her again, eye barely open, his lips parted as he panted for breath. A warning then. One which Caitlin happily ignored. She tightened her grip and sucked hard, sealing her lips around the broad head of his cock.

Michael made a sound unlike any he'd made before as his fingers, still tangled in her hair, tightened spasmodically. Then his entire body jerked as his orgasm roared through him, sending him bow-string taunt.

Michael was still taking in great gasps of air as Caitlin sat back on her heels feeling pretty pleased with herself. As he recovered, she quickly stripped off his shoes and socks and finished removing the slacks and underwear she'd simply pushed down earlier.

Rising up to her feet, she gazed down on him. He might have been self-conscious about the scars that now marked him, but she noted that he definitely wasn't shy about his body, as he sprawled across her sofa with a languid disregard for his state of nakedness.

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. His eye, half closed in contentment opened. "You know, it's not considered polite to laugh at a man in such vulnerable circumstances. My ego might never recover."

Caitlin let her gaze deliberately roam over his body in obvious appreciation. "I don't think your ego is in any danger. It's just that you look like a debauched angel."

"And you are a veritable font of hidden talents."

She flushed in an odd combination of pride and embarrassment, and then gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "Centerville, Texas. Population three thousand. Bobby Joe Lincoln. My parent's barn and not a whole lot to do on Saturday nights when you're seventeen years old."

He gave her a slow smile full of mischief that she was coming to realize was all Michael and not Archangel. "Remind me to send Bobby Joe Lincoln a nice thank you card."

He spent a long minute simply letting his gaze run over her. "One of us is very overdressed."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

He was relaxed, utterly and completely relaxed. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way. He'd never imagined that the seemingly innocent Caitlin O'Shannesey would, quite literally, blow his mind. He was going to have to do some re-evaluation, because he'd obviously underestimated her.

Her eyes swept over him in pure feminine appreciation and he felt his blood quicken again. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him with that type of regard.

"One of us is very overdressed."

She flushed again, as she looked down at the Santini Air t-shirt and sweatpants she'd changed into sometime after she'd sent everyone home. He snagged the edge of her t-shirt and pulled her forward. Twisting his fingers in the hem, he tugged on the shirt and was quite satisfied when Caitlin gave him a slow smile. She had been a total, and quite refreshing, surprise tonight.

He'd told her the truth earlier. He'd only come back to check on her because she'd seemed agitated with String and Dom in a way he'd not seen before. It was true, she wasn't one of "his", but she was part of the Airwolf team. That brought her under what he considered to be his purview. He'd also admit to a tiny bit of curiosity about her after today. He'd never really given much thought to Caitlin as a person. For the most part she was an extension of Hawke and Santini, and he tended to view them as a unit. _He doubted that he would ever do that again_.

"What was it you said earlier? Oh yes, I believe it was: Off."

"Now who's being bossy," she replied with a wicked smile.

 _Had that always been there,_ he wondered. _And they'd all just failed to notice?_

There was no hesitation as she shimmied out of the threadbare sweatpants and pulled her t-shirt off over her head. She hadn't bothered with underwear or a bra when she'd dressed. But then, he was sure that she hadn't been expecting him to show back up at her door, either.

Michael let his gaze roam over her, making no attempt at being subtle or circumspect. She was long-legged and lean with the build of an athlete, not the soft generous curves he usually preferred, although he was quickly deciding that what he'd always considered his "type" might also need some re-evaluation.

Holding out a hand, he helped her retake her earlier perch across his thighs. He took in a breath at the dizzying feeling of skin again skin. He wasn't surprised when his body began to respond to her again. A good thing, he decided, as it looked as if Caitlin was far from through with him.

He noticed that this time she settled her weight evenly across him. It pleased him to see that she trusted his judgment, that when he said he could handle it, she took him at his word. He couldn't help the chuckle that thought produced.

"What?" she asked.

"I think you've done more for me tonight than a dozen sessions with the Firm's shrinks over the last two years."

"Shrinks like to wag their tongues. I can find much better things to do with mine." She leaned forward, her lips, and that tongue, once again worrying at that spot on his neck she'd discovered earlier. "I'm not done with you, Michael. I still have to get at all those secrets."

He laughed again. "I'm afraid I only have one secret of any note." His voiced dropped to a whisper. "I have at my disposal the biggest, baddest, fastest helicopter in the world."

Sitting back, she gave him a look of feigned innocence. "Helicopter? What helicopter?"

It only took a moment for him to catch the reference. In the beginning, he, Hawke and Santini had denied to Caitlin that Airwolf existed – despite the fact that they were all actually sitting in said helicopter at the time. He shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. I really didn't want you involved, for your own sake, as much as anything. Although I have to admit, I'm rather glad that you didn't take no for an answer."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Because otherwise, you wouldn't be sitting in my lap doing unmentionable things to me."

That set her to laughing and having a laughing, naked woman in his lap was, he decided, rather nice.

Her eyes were sparkling and she was wearing that devilish smile again. "I'm enjoying doing unmentionable things to you. Like this." Reaching downward she encircled her fingers around him. Her grip firm, she pumped him lazily as he fought the urge to raise his hips up into her touch.

"Good God, Cait." His voice was rough sounding even to his own ears. The word _please_ was there, just on the tip of his tongue when she shifted her weight, the long muscles in her thighs bunching as she hovered above him, the barest touch of heat and wet. Then she was sinking down, driving him up into her body by slow degrees. Michael gritted his teeth and ran through the names of his operatives currently working out of Southeast Asia in an effort to maintain control. _It had been so long since he'd felt anything this good._ Halfway down she did _something_ that made him clamp his hands around her waist and thrust up. Hard. _Control be damned_.

She let out a half groan, half laugh.

"Sorry. Sorry," he muttered, not in the least bit sorry because he was now buried to the hilt inside of her.

Strong hands braced against his shoulders as she lifted her hips up, only to sink back down again. Her eyes were closed and her head tipped backwards as she purred out her approval through parted lips.

"Does that feel good, Cait?" he ground out between gasps of air. "Do I feel good?"

"God, yes. So good."

He loosed one of his hands from her waist to lock behind her neck, pulling her down to him so he could kiss her. The kiss was hungry, a clash of lips and tongues as each sought to drive the other higher and all the while the rhythm of Caitlin's hips increased.

The need for air drove his own head backwards and he found he could only stare in fascination as Caitlin rode him, her abdominal muscles flexing with every contraction and release. She was moaning now, a low breathy sound that was forced from her every time she sank down on him. She was utterly gorgeous, the sight enough to snap what little control he had left.

Her pacing picked up, her hips now swiveling back and forth as she sought more sensation. He could give that to her. The hand locked around her nape moved to her hip, his fingers digging into soft flesh as he sought a grip on sweat-slicked skin.

"Mi-chael." His name was sobbed, broken on a gasp of air as his other hand slid between her splayed legs. Turning his hand, he pressed one of his knuckles upward on her next down stroke.

"Oh!" Her eyes flew open in surprise to stare at him, her short nails biting into the back of his neck as she ground down against his hand before lifting herself up his shaft.

Michael could feel a slow burn start in the small of his back and knew from the tightening in his balls that he was going to lose it soon, but he wanted to watch Caitlin first.

"Damn it, Cait," he growled, pressing up against her harder. He was rewarded a second later as a shudder went through her whole body. Michael watched in rapt fascination as her orgasm swept through her, the muscles of her stomach and thighs rippling as the contractions gripped her. He wasn't able to watch for long though, as her contracting internal muscles gripped him hard and pulled him along with her, all blazing heat and scorched nerves.

For long minutes there was silence except for the sounds of the two of them each trying to catch their breath. Only when Michael thought he had sufficient control did he finally groan out, "I was right, you are trying to kill me."

She breathed out a laugh, between her own gulps for air that ruffled the hair at the nape of his neck, sending another shudder through him. He felt her smile against the skin of his shoulder at his reaction. "Oh, I think you gave as well as you got." He was pleased to note that the soft Texas twang that normally colored her speech was heavier now. _He'd done that_. It was complete male vanity on his part, but he couldn't say he really cared.

Pulling her close, he lazily ran a hand up and down her spine, tracing each knot of vertebra as he went. Her skin was still damp and his fingers slid easily along her body. They stayed that way until their breathing was back to normal. It was good to feel her skin soft and warm beneath his fingers. Almost too good.

"Feeling better now?"

She pulled away enough to regard him with heavy lidded eyes. "Yes. I don't feel like my insides are going to take flight without me anymore." She gave him a tiny smile. "Got to say, that was some of the most enjoyable fightin' I've done in a while. Thank you."

"You are very welcome. It's certainly been my pleasure." He knew that in entirely different ways, it had been as therapeutic for him as it had been for her. He had needed the release just as much as she had.

She laughed and settled back against his shoulder. "Just about time for you to go, isn't it?"

"Was I that obvious?"

She sat up straight again. "I'm a big girl. I figured this was a one-time thing."

"You're okay with that?"

She stretched then, and the sight of taunt, lightly freckled skin made him wonder if _he_ was okay with it. "It's why I left us here on the couch rather than moving to my bed."

He nodded in understanding. He had wondered. "A little too intimate."

"Yeah."

He helped her up and as she retreated to the bathroom, he pulled on his clothes. She stepped back out a minute or so later, a robe belted around her as he was slipping on his shoes.

He hooked two fingers into the robe's belt. "Come here." This time he took control of the kiss, doing everything in his power to send her senses reeling. When he finally pulled back, she was breathing hard and her eyes had gone dark. "I'd say good-night, but it's closer to morning."

That devilish smile was back again as she flung up a dramatic hand to her brow. "Oh, Dom. I don't think I'll be up for replacing the bearings in the Jet Ranger today. I was just too restless last night and didn't get a wink of real sleep."

"Quit taking the acting lessons, did you?"

She thumped him on the shoulder. "Wise guy. Actually, I'd better play it cool, or the guys will—" Caitlin broke off abruptly. "You're not going to say anything?"

He couldn't help but snort. "You really think I want to end up facing the wrong end of Airwolf – again? No, this will be our little secret."

She smiled at that. "Good thing you're a spy."

"Intelligence agent." He grinned, and then hesitated. The banter had given him an idea. "Cait, maybe there's something else I can do. Another way I can give you a little more control."

"What's that?"

"If you're interested, I could arrange for you to sit in on some of the training that my agents receive, tactics, munitions, defensive driving - even little things like knowing how to pick a lock or hot wire a car can come in handy." If nothing else, it would serve to give her confidence in herself.

She gave him a dubious look. "Do I have to wear white?"

Michael laughed. "You can wear whatever you want."

"The guys don't need to know?"

"I'd just as soon that they didn't." He knew he'd be accused of trying to recruit Caitlin, which wasn't his intention. "This would just be part-time, depending on the classes being offered and your availability. Evenings, weekends. Should I have Sam contact you to set something up?"

She nodded slowly, smiling. "I'd like that. Thank you."

He returned her smile, and glanced reluctantly towards the door. "I'd better go, so you can get at least a little sleep."

Rising onto her toes, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Yeah. Before we end up on the couch again."

As inviting as that thought sounded, he wasn't sure he'd even survive another round. He retrieved his cane, and then kissed her once, his lips just brushing her forehead. "You get some sleep. I'll let myself out."


	2. Chapter 2

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 2**

 _By Caeria and debfan_

Michael was furious, more irate than Caitlin had ever seen him. That almost palpable feeling of rage was all the more frightening because except for the white-knuckled grip he had on his cane, he was acting as cool and collected as usual, as if the hijacked cruise ship was of no consequence.

Hawke had made the mistake of thinking that at the beginning of the meeting – sharp, needling words about Michael having ice water in his veins, taunting Michael with potentially withholding Airwolf from the mission. It wasn't anything that Hawke hadn't done in the past. Nothing that was out of the ordinary, and yet, for one brief moment, she'd though that Michael was going to take a swing at Hawke. His one blue eye had blazed in unspoken fury hot enough that even Hawke, known for his pigheadedness, had finally backed down at Michael's low voiced answer.

"You will take this mission or so help me, bargain or not, I will have you arrested and I will be content to let Airwolf rot in whatever hole you've stuck her in."

The words has sent shivers down her spine and reminded her that Michael was also Archangel, the Deputy Director of a covert branch of the CIA who could, and did, command more than enough power to fulfill his threat.

The briefing had been quiet after that. Saying little, Michael had been on the move constantly, stalking the office like a prowling panther as Samantha went over the information they had. Modern day pirates had taken a page from the recent hijacking of the Achille Lauro. They had seized a smaller cruise ship. Ninety-two passengers and crew, twenty three of them children, were being held hostage in the Red Sea southeast of Cairo, their very position making it virtually impossible for anything but a submarine to sneak up on them. Or, more precisely, anything but a sub or a supersonic high-tech helicopter using stealth mode.

"So why the big push for the Lady?" Dom finally asked. "Why isn't this a Navy op?"

Caitlin watched as Sam's entire body stiffened. It was then that Cait realized that Michael wasn't the only one holding in a great deal of emotion.

"This is an Airwolf mission because we don't have the time for anything else. We are currently moving the submarine USS Sam Houston to the area but it won't arrive for another three days. This is a fairly new group with terrorists who have been operating out of Egypt. They are ruthless and they do not make ransom demands and then wait patiently for a response."

"What do you mean they don't wait for a response?" Hawke looked up from the charts and maps spread across the table in front of him. For the moment at least, he has lost the cocky attitude he usually maintained around Michael.

"Four months ago, members of the same group captured a British yacht. There were eight people on board, including two children under the age of twelve. The families of the hostages immediately agreed to pay the ransom." Sam pulled another set of glossy photos from a folder, the slick photograph paper shiny under the fluorescent lights of Michael's office. "It didn't matter." A quick flick of her wrist sent the photos skimming across the glass tabletop so that they came to rest arrayed in from of her, Dom and Hawke.

Caitlin felt her stomach heave and covered her mouth, biting down hard on her knuckle at the sight of the photos.

"It took time to arrange and deliver payment. By the time it was, all eight passengers had been repeatedly beaten and raped." Sam paused to let that sink in. "All of them, male and female, including the children. In addition, for every day that passed before the ransom was in their hands, the pirates cut off a finger in turn from one of the hostages. It took sixteen days to effect their release."

Caitlin couldn't help but do the math. Eight people and sixteen days. Each of them had lost two fingers. The pirates had already had the cruise ship for forty eight hours. _How many people had already been hurt?_

The silence in the room stretched. Caitlin found herself holding her breath until Hawke let out a low growl. "We'll take the Lady in. Caitlin can-"

Michael cut him off. "No. Caitlin won't be going."

"What?" she demanded. _So now Michael was trying to protect her, too?_

He held up a hand, signaling her to wait. "This is a hostage situation. From the intelligence we've gathered, we know there are at least eighteen pirates, probably more, all heavily armed. Hawke, I need you to be what you are, a military combat pilot."

Silence weighed heavy in the room. "So what's the plan?" Dom finally asked, his tone quieter than normal.

Michael pressed a button and the screen lit up with an aerial photo of the cruise ship. The resolution was sharp enough to see several armed men stationed along the upper deck of the ship.

"If Caitlin stays behind, you'll be able to fit a four-man SEAL team in Airwolf. It will be a tight fit and it won't be a comfortable ride, but it can be done. You'll go in silent, drop them off, then go high and wait. As soon as they assess the situation and get in position, they'll signal. You'll move in and take the gunmen on the upper deck while providing a suitable distraction."

"Weapons?" Hawke asked.

"Our intel says they have access to a broad variety of weapons, mostly Soviet. Everything from Makarov pistols to Degtyaryov machine guns. A least a handful of SAMS as well – Stingers and Soviet made Strelas."

Hawke nodded, filing the information away.

"What about you?"

Michael sighed. "I will be coordinating things from here. This is an op best left to the professionals and like it or not, a one-eyed ex-field agent will only get in the way. My skills will best be used for coordination and communication."

"Can we expect them to have re-enforcements?"

The slide show advanced forward, this time the aerial view showed what looked like a heavily fortified garrison built into the side wall of a cliff.

"It shouldn't take long to gain control of the ship. The pirates don't have the resources to get re-enforcements there in time. Not that far out at sea. What they do have though is a base of operations. Once the ship is secured, I want you to blow the hell out of their base."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Laura, another of Michael's white-clad agents, joined them soon after. She brought with her a stack of route charts and approach plates. The papers were soon spread across the table. The briefing continued with both Laura and Sam pointing out various locations and bits of information to String and Dom.

Normally, Caitlin would be paying close attention, but since she wasn't going on this trip, she instead turned her attention to Michael. For the most part, he wasn't actively participating in the briefing, instead letting his experts do their jobs, but that didn't mean that he had taken a seat, or even that he showed any sign of relaxing. Instead, he was stalking the room, tense as a coiled spring. If the heaviness with which he was leaning on his cane was any indication, the pacing wasn't doing his leg any good.

Cait well remembered being in such a state herself, and what Michael had done for her, bringing her emotions back to an even keel after Sawyer had nearly killed them both. Now, watching Michael, she wished that there was something she could do for him. More accurately, she wondered if she had the courage to do something. Seeing him momentarily grimace in pain as he turned at the far corner of the room, Caitlin made her decision.

Gathering up her purse, Caitlin excused herself, slipping from the room without the others really registering her absence. She approached the aide that was currently manning the desk in Michael's outer office. "Excuse me. Could you tell me if there's a ladies room I could use?" Caitlin asked.

"It's the second door down on the left," the agent replied, gesturing.

"Great, I'll be right back."

Caitlin made her way into the rest room, noting that it was unoccupied before locking herself into the end stall. She rummaged in her purse, tearing an unused page from the small notebook she always carried, and finding a pen. Before she could change her mind, she printed a quick note on the slip of paper, then folded it into a neat square and slipped it into her pocket.

Caitlin rejoined the others just as Laura was leaving, having finished the briefing. The other woman nodded to her as they passed.

"Ready to go, Cait?" Hawke asked, standing and collecting the pile of documents that still littered the table.

"I'm good." She willed herself not to look over towards the sofa where she'd been sitting earlier, and hoped no one else would, either. If they did, her plan wasn't going to work.

"Sam will contact you with precise refueling coordinates," Michael told the other two men, as they followed Sam toward the office doorway with Caitlin close behind. Michael hesitated. "Hawke, this is a mess that never should have happened. If we can avoid passenger casualties. . . ."

Despite a scowl that indicated his displeasure with the politics involved, String nodded his understanding. "We'll be in touch."

Leaving Sam in the outer office, Hawke started down the long hallway that led out of Firm headquarters with Dom and Cait flanking him on either side.

Halfway to the parking lot, Caitlin took a deep breath, steeling herself. She abruptly stopped. "Oh."

"Cait?" String paused.

"I left my jacket in Michael's office."

String turned, sighing. "All right. Let's go get your jacket."

"That's okay, I can get it," she offered quickly. "You two go on ahead and do your pre-flight. I'll catch up by the time you get the rotors turning."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, Caitlin stepped back into the office.

"Sam I don't-" Michael cut off as he realized it wasn't his aide. "Caitlin?"

She walked over to the table and picked up her jacket from the back of the chair she'd been using. "I forgot my jacket."

He nodded but was watching her, a slight frown narrowing his eyes. That coldly assessing stare made her second guess her decision. She really didn't expect him to take her up on the offer, but something about the tension that still radiated from him drove her forward. She took a few quick steps toward his desk and carefully put down the folded note she'd written out in the ladies lavatory. She'd decided on the note because she'd never been sure that Michael's office wasn't bugged or under some kind of video surveillance. Notes, easily read and just as easily destroyed, were preferable to anyone hearing the words and the offer she was about to make him.

Without waiting for him to open the folded square of paper, Caitlin nodded a farewell and headed out, quickening her step to catch up to Dom and Hawke whom she knew would be waiting impatiently for her.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Michael frowned at his doorway as Caitlin disappeared. Frown turning thoughtful, he contemplated the square of paper sitting in the middle of his desk. It was small, folded multiple times so that it created almost its own envelope, one corner tucking under to form a seal so that it wouldn't accidentally open and display whatever message was written within.

 _Why had she written a note rather than just tell him whatever she wanted to say? Why the ruse, because he knew that it had been a ruse, of leaving her jacket behind?_

Picking up the paper, he turned it over. It wasn't addressed to him as either Michael or Archangel. He couldn't resist a small smile. Whatever she was doing, she was approaching the whole thing as an operative, leaving nothing to directly tie the note to him or back to her. More curious now, he opened it. The words were written in block letters, again making it harder to link to her usual neat script. The message was simple and hit him like a punch in the gut.

I AM YOURS TO DO WITH AS YOU PLEASE. ANYTHING YOU WANT.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

It had been Caitlin's idea to go with Hawke and Dom when they'd been summoned to Knightsbridge, but now as they flew Dom's helicopter back to Santini Air, she wished she'd simply stayed at the hanger. She couldn't believe what she'd done. _What on earth had possessed her to write that note?_ _She'd propositioned Archangel._ _Worse, s_ _he'd propositioned Archangel in his own office._ Not that he hadn't made the same offer to her weeks ago, but in the month and change since Sawyer had strapped that bomb to her, her interactions with Michael had gone back to simply being cordial.

There had been a handful of other Airwolf missions since that night, and several times the training that Michael had arranged had taken her to Firm headquarters. On the few occasions when she'd seen him, Michael had been polite, neither distancing himself nor being overly attentive. She'd known at the time it was just a one-time thing – a combination of the right place, time and circumstances. And yet, she found her gaze drawn to him. Something, she told herself firmly, that was because of the novelty of his all white attire, not because she knew firsthand what was under that expensively tailored suit. Only once had she wondered if he was thinking of her in something other than a professional manner. That had been when she, Dom, and the other families were taken by Tran. Michael had flown with String, rather than sending one of his people. But, then, that might have been merely because he was already familiar with Airwolf, and time was running out. Just a matter of convenience and speed, not out of any concern for her personally.

Putting Michael out of her mind, she glanced at String. As he flew, he was staring straight ahead with a scowl on his face. She knew he wasn't happy. Michael's threats had shaken the boundaries of their "I respect you, but I don't know if I like you" relationship. String didn't take well to change.

He sensed her watching him. "You okay with sitting this one out?"

"I'm fine. You'll need the extra space in The Lady." She pushed down something that felt remarkably like anticipation tinged with guilt. "I think I might call and ask Michael if he'll let me come into the office tomorrow so I can follow the progress of the attack. That way I'll know you guys are safe."

"Hey, that's a good idea." Sitting beside String, Dom brightened. "You can keep an eye on the Good Humor Man and make sure he's not up to anything shifty."

"Dom, you saw him. I don't think he'll do anything to jeopardize the mission."

"Jeopardize no. I don't think I've ever seen him so mad. But that right there tells you he's taking this personally for some reason, and Archangel always has his own agenda." Dom made a face. "Spies," he muttered, the word laced with disgust.

Cait shook her head. Dom didn't entirely trust Michael and she didn't think anything would ever change that. Not that today's threats against Hawke were going to endear him to either of the men.

Hawke glanced back towards her. "Cait, I'm going to drop you off at the hanger. Reschedule what you can for the next few days, and see if Everett can cover the rest. Dom and I will head out to the Lair and strip any extra weight off the Lady."

"Will do. I'll stop at the cabin afterwards and make sure Tet has plenty of food." Although Hawke insisted that the dog could find his own meals, Cait didn't like the idea of Tet terrorizing the wildlife when there was perfectly good kibble available. She noted that they had almost reached Santini Air. "Are you coming back here before you leave?"

"Doubt it. It's nearly noon already. By the time we're ready to fly, Samantha should have radioed us the flight plan."

Cait knew it would be a long flight with just the two men doing the piloting. As they'd left Firm airspace, Dom had brought her up to speed with the details she'd missed while she'd been in the bathroom composing her ill-advised note. Actual flying time to the hijacked ship was nearly twenty one hours. The most direct route to the Red Sea would take them over Greenland, where they would stop for refueling and a short rest. From there, they would head for Europe and pick up the Seal team at a base in Germany. The attack was slated for one o'clock in the morning, Cairo time.

The Santini Air helicopter slowly descended; Hawke's hands light on the controls. As the skids touched down, Cait popped the hatch. "Guys, you be careful, okay?"

"We always are. See you soon, kiddo," Dom answered, giving her a wave as she closed the door and ducked beneath the rotor blades, Hawke only nodded.

She turned to watch as they took off again, waiting until they were out of sight before heading into the hanger.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

 _Anything you want._

As he contemplated the message, Michael carefully refolded the note before dropping it into a receptacle that was used to shred classified documents.

Caitlin had told him that he seemed to always be cool and collected. This current situation had left him neither. At the time of the taking of the British yacht, he had realized that it had been little more than a practice run. He had wanted to deal with the instigators then, before they struck again, but his reports had fallen on deaf ears. _No matter how gruesome, a simple kidnapping didn't fall under the Firm's charter._ The short-sightedness and lack of response by both the Firm's Committee and the Senate Intelligence Committee infuriated him. The Senate he put down to stupidity. The Committee, however, that smelled too much like Zeus and internal politics.

Michael knew he could play the game better than most men, but he'd never really defined himself by it. He'd been happy with his department and didn't care about building his own personal empire within the Firm or about being promoted. It had never interested him - too many meetings, too much ass-kissing and paperwork for his tastes.

But now, Zeus was playing politics with lives in a way Michael wouldn't tolerate. Something would have to be done there, and soon.

Between the hijacking and Zeus's political maneuvering, Michael's temper had been honed to a sharp edge for days as additional intelligence data had come pouring in. He knew that even his own people had been walking on eggshells around him, unsure of what to do to bring him back to an even keel.

All of which brought him full circle to Caitlin and her offer. He'd be lying if he claimed he hadn't thought about their previous encounter. Caitlin had been warm, generous, and responsive. And she'd been a one-time thing. What he was contemplating now was dangerous – for him and her. But the thought – the temptation – of burying himself in her willing body was hard to resist.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin sat on her couch, refusing to look at the clock again. If she did, she knew what she's find, that only fifteen minutes had passed since the last time she'd checked. He wasn't coming. She'd been stupid to make the offer to begin with. She'd known that. The first time had just been the unusual circumstances. This was different. He was _Archangel_. This had been a bad idea, reckless and impulsive.

Glancing down at herself, she felt rather silly. She'd taken care with her clothing and makeup. She let out a little self-depreciating laugh. She'd even put on her sexiest underwear – a pale rose-colored matching set that was more ribbon and lace than actual fabric. If he did show, he wasn't going to find her in a t-shirt and threadbare sweatpants again.

Unable to stop herself, she glanced up at the clock. It was past midnight. She sighed, not entirely certain whether she was disappointed or relieved that Michael hadn't contacted her. _He's busy_. She knew it was a possibility. Even if he wanted to take her up on her offer, he might not be in a position to do so. He was, after all, in the midst of dealing with an international hostage crisis.

 _Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes, then she'd change and go to bed. In the morning, she'd call Knightsbridge and ask about driving out there so she could follow the progress of Hawke's attack on the boat. When she saw Michael, she'd just pretend she'd never given him that damn note._

The chime of the doorbell actually made her jump, the sound unnaturally loud against the quiet of the night. Her heart was pounding as she got up, a curious mixture of excitement and dread. She opened the door to find Michael, his back to her, the receiver of his satellite phone pressed against his ear and the case cradled in one arm. He was listening intently to someone on the other end, his head nodding unconsciously with whatever they were saying.

His back to her, she took the opportunity to study him. He was still wearing the three-piece suit he'd been wearing at the office, so he'd not had an opportunity to change into anything more comfortable or casual. Deep wrinkles set into the fabric and a generally rumpled appearance made her wonder just how long he'd been at Knightsbridge. As the call continued, his shoulders were becoming more and more rigid beneath the fabric and she could almost feel the anger radiating off of him, like the electric buzz that permeates the air right before a storm.

"No," he snapped into the phone. "Not good enough. I want all of it. Everything you have and I want it on my desk tomorrow morning." Without a goodbye, he severed the connection, slammed the receiver down and snapped the lid shut.

He finally spun around to face her, his gaze meeting hers. "Sorry," he said, lifting the case slightly in apology for his rudeness. He paused a moment, conflicting expressions shifting across his face. "I know it's late. If you'd rather I-"

"No. Come on in." She stepped to the side to allow him to pass. As he did, she noticed that the limp was more pronounced than usual. That wasn't surprising, given that he'd hardly stopped pacing during their earlier briefing. Combined with what she suspected about how long he'd been at Knightsbridge, he'd undoubtedly been on his feet for hours, if not days. "Sit. Can I get you a beer? Something stronger?"

He set the briefcase and cane down beside the couch and then dropped onto it, sprawling almost bonelessly with the total abandon of someone both mentally and physically exhausted. He hesitated, before he shook his head. "I better not. I don't expect to hear anything more tonight, but technically I'm on call." He gestured toward the case. "Which is why I'm lugging that."

Caitlin watched as he heaved a deep sigh, forcing the air nosily out through parted lips as his eye slid closed. Leaning over the sofa she brushed a finger along his stubbled jaw, several hours past a five o-clock shadow. "This is an interesting look for you."

He tilted his head back into her touch. "I try to avoid the scruffy look. Combine it with the eye and I start looking like a pirate," he commented wryly.

Running her fingers along his jawline, she couldn't help but notice how tired he looked. He certainly hadn't slept. She wondered whether he'd eaten. "Can I get you something else, then? I could make you a sandwich."

He hummed, obviously still enjoying her touch. "My staff keeps me well fed, but I could use some coffee, if you've got it?"

"Do you mind instant?" She didn't bother to keep ground in the apartment, as she was seldom around long enough to drink an entire pot.

"That's fine."

"I'll be right back." Trailing her fingertips along his skin as she pulled back, she went into the kitchen and put water on to heat. She started to take the jar from the counter, then put it back, instead reaching into the cupboard to retrieve the decaf that she kept for when her elderly neighbor visited. _The last thing Michael needed was caffeine._

As the water heated to a boil, she wandered back into the living room and took a seat beside him on the couch. He had turned on her television and muted the sound. She saw that he'd switched it to CNN.

He watched the headlines scroll past for a few minutes more before switching it off. "At least the media hasn't gotten wind of it yet."

Caitlin didn't have to ask what he meant. "Any word from String and Dom?"

"On the ground in Greenland. Thule Air Base. Complaining about the cold and hopefully catching a few hours of sleep."

"Which from the look of you is what you should be doing."

"Too wound up to sleep. Too tired to be of much use doing anything else." He gave her that smirk, the one she was starting to know all too well. "I think you know that feeling."

"Yeah. As a matter of fact, I do." The words came out a little breathy and she could feel her heart start to pound with anticipation. "I-" She startled as the kettle let out a shrill whistle and she gave a little laugh as she jumped up from the couch.

 _Idiot. No, that wasn't embarrassing at all._

Busying herself with getting down a coffee cup and measuring out the instant coffee, she called out, "How do you take it?"

"I think I've changed my mind."

She gasped and spun around to find Michael standing just behind her, close enough to be invading her space but not close enough to crowd her. A surge of disappointment went through her. He'd changed his mind. Her offer was ridiculous and he'd finally come to his senses. "Of course, I mean it's late and. . . ." she trailed off as he started to frown.

He dropped his head with a low chuckle. "Changed my mind about the coffee, Caitlin. Not about you, not about this."

"Sorry, I'm just a little-"

"Nervous?"

She gave him a wry grin. "Maybe a little."

His expression was warm and understanding. "This isn't tit for tat, Cait. We don't have to do this."

"Stop that. I wouldn't have given you that note if I didn't mean exactly what I said." She reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw again, her tone more serious this time. "You can relax here. You don't have to be Archangel for me. I don't want anything from you." Her lips turned up a smile. "In fact, I think the invitation was for anything _you_ wanted."

He was watching her and she unconsciously wet her lips in anticipation, noticing how his gaze followed her movement.

"Anything?"

"Well, if you're going to pull out the whips and chains, we might have to talk."

That earned her a laugh. "No whips or chains, I promise," he said, before he pressed his lips to hers.

Cait sighed into the kiss. Letting him lead, she tilted her head back, opening her mouth to him. The kiss was slow and teasing, as he brought a hand up to cup her jaw and hold her steady. It wasn't aggressive or dominating but there was little doubt that Michael was in complete control.

A hand on her hip turned them, forcing her to take a step backwards. It wasn't until the back of her calves hit the sofa that she understood where he'd been maneuvering them.

She flashed back to their previous encounter when she'd admitted that she'd kept them on the couch to avoid too much intimacy. She'd chosen the safer option then. She felt a swell of warmth fill her. He was abiding by her wishes. She put a hand to his chest and pushed. The pressure was slight, but he stopped immediately.

"Cait?" His breathing shallow and rapid, his gaze roamed over her face in confusion.

She rose up slightly on her toes to kiss him. "My bed is more comfortable."

The one eye she could see grew darker as his pupil widened. "Are you sure? I don't mind-"

She cut him off with another kiss. "I'm sure." Entwining her fingers with his she gave a little tug. "Come. Bring your phone."

He snickered. "Still bossy, I see." Nevertheless, he let her pull him along until they stepped into the small room off of her bedroom. "The bathroom? Seems like a strange place for your bed," he teased as he looked around curiously.

"Oh hush, you." She took the case from him and set it down beside the door, close enough that they'd hear it if it rang. "I want you to take a shower."

His eyebrows rose quizzically and he wasn't able to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Do I smell that bad?"

She huffed out a breath. "No, but you're tense and tired and even I can tell you've been in those clothes a long time." She trailed a finger down the small buttons on his vest, circling each one before moving to the next. "You'll feel better after a hot shower."

His head tilted slightly to the side as he considered her suggestion. When he finally spoke his voice was softer and huskier than before, with an undercurrent of challenge. "Undress me?"

Goosebumps danced across her skin at the sound of his voice. She'd undressed for, and been undressed, by a half dozen assorted lovers over the years - she had, for all practical purposes, stripped Michael on her very own sofa only weeks earlier. This was different. That had been a means to an end, but this – this was a destination in and of itself. The idea of undressing Michael, of slowly baring him while she remained clothed, made her heart beat faster in her chest. She glanced back up at him and found he was still watching her, that challenge still there for her to see. She was reminded all over again that he was a dangerous man.

She could feel her pulse start to pound as she took a shaky breath before giving him a tiny nod. _Challenge accepted_. Stepping to the right she circled around him, her fingers moving across his body as she went. Once she was behind him, she smoothed her hands across the breadth of his shoulders, the fabric of the jacket cool and silky beneath the heat of her palms.

"You wear these suits like a kind of armor. They keep you remote. Untouchable." The shoulders beneath her palms flexed and settled. "I find that I rather enjoy touching you, though." Lightly gripping the back of the lapel, she lifted slightly and felt him shrug back his shoulders allowing her to slip the jacket down his arms. A few quick steps and the garment was hung on the peg on the back of the bathroom door.

When she turned back Michael hadn't moved, except to focus on his cuffs, undoing a pair of silver cufflinks she hadn't noticed he was wearing. She held out a cupped hand and he dropped the pair one by one into her hand. The metal was warm from being next to his skin and Caitlin fought the shiver that threatened to climb up her spine at that thought.

She carefully set them on the counter beside a pair of her own earrings and turned back to Michael. _Tie or vest?_ Vest she decided. Trailing her finger back up the buttons, she popped the first one free of its buttonhole. "You're always so buttoned up. Controlled." The air was growing thick and heavy in the small room as in turn she slipped each of the tiny buttons free. Again she moved behind him to slide the vest down his arms. It joined the jacket.

As she hung up the vest, she detoured to the shower enclosure to start the water. Her apartment building was old and the hot water often took several long minutes to find its way to her tap. Once finished, she circled around to again stand before him. He was toeing off his shoes, kicking them off to the side near the door where neither of them would trip over them.

Separating the knot of his tie, she tugged on one end and listened to the slithering sound of silk pulling against the polished cotton of his shirt before she tossed it heedlessly in the direction of the counter. Her heart pounding now, she rose up on her toes and kissed him softly before pulling back to start on the buttons of his shirt. They opened easily but instead of removing the shirt she left it hanging open, the parted cloth revealing the tight white undershirt beneath.

"I loved the fact that you let go of some of that control with me. _For me._ " Holding his gaze, she dropped down to her knees. "Do you know how liberating that was? The sense of power it gave me?" She watched in satisfaction as his pupil expanded at her words and actions, thrilling her to know that he was becoming just as aroused by this slow striptease as she as was.

Dropping her gaze, she tapped one ankle for him to raise his foot. She pulled off his sock before doing the same with the other foot and then sat back on her heels to get a good look at him. _Good God, he was sexy_. His shirt still hung open and she could watch the slow rise and fall of his chest every time he took a breath. Lower, his slacks were belted around trim hips and she could see that a partial erection was already tenting the front of his pants.

Fingertips tingling, she slipped the button on his pants free. "I want to give that back to you tonight. I want you to have everything you gave to me."

"Caitlin." Low and rough-edged she could hear the want and the impatience in his voice. But he wasn't moving. He wasn't hurrying her along and she knew he was enjoying this as much as she was.

He sucked in a breath as she deliberately brushed the back of her fingers against his lower stomach. "Has anyone ever mentioned that you wear too many clothes?" she asked.

That brought a chuckle. "Once or twice. Too many years as a field agent, I suppose. Layers are useful for hiding weapons."

Palms slipping around his hips she slid both his underwear and pants down his legs. She blew a breath against the erection just a few inches in front of her face. "You need to go back to spy school, Michael. You're doing a lousy job of hiding this particular _weapon_."

Chancing a look upward, she caught his smirk. "Come here."

Rising up, she let him pull her into a kiss. She could feel him moving, kicking off his pants even as her hands were moving across his shoulders pushing the fabric of his shirt down off his arms. Then her hand wound under the t-shirt to smooth up the broad plane of his back. She pulled back from the kiss only long enough to sweep it up and over his head before leaning back into him.

Strong hands grasped her hips pulling her against his naked body. His lips moved along her jaw, the soft scrape of teeth along her neck pulling a groan from her.

"Join me." The words were whispered again her ear, a hot tongue trailing along its edge making her gasp.

It took a few seconds for her brain to connect. When it did, she smiled. "I took a shower when I got home. I don't think I need another."

"I disagree." He leaned in to kiss her again, keeping it light and teasing as his hands ghosted down her arms, around her waist and back up before coming to rest on the top button of her blouse. "I think," he undid the first button before moving on to the next, slowly working one fastener at a time until the blouse fell open, "that you most definitely need to join me." His voice had dropped down into a lower register that did delicious things to her nerves.

He slipped the blouse from her shoulders and let it drop to pool around her feet. His hands continued down, tracing her ribs and the curve of her waist. Two fingers slipped beneath the band of her slacks, his thumb deftly slipping the button free before he slid the short zipper down. Her pants dropped to her ankles in a whisper of fabric that she kicked free.

"Hmm," he rumbled against her throat, amusement in his voice. "I'm beginning to see the appeal of less clothing."

She tilted her head back with a laugh as he continued to nuzzle her throat and collarbone. One of his fingers traced along the edge of her bra cup, his touch light and ticklish. Her nipples hardened and puckered beneath the lace, something she knew he could see. That maddening finger trailed down the plane of her stomach until he reached the band of the matching panties.

"Pretty. Is this for me?"

Heat flushed her face. "Last time I was wearing an oil-stained t-shirt and sweats." She shrugged a little self-consciously. "I thought maybe-"

He cut her off with a sharp kiss. "Cait, you were naked beneath the t-shirt and sweats. Absolutely, gloriously naked. That's all I need."

He kissed her again, raw heat building between them as skin slid against skin. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers as he breathed, pulling air deeply into his lungs. His hands moved along her back, tracing up her spine. One buried itself in her hair, holding her close. The other paused at the band across her back, fingers lightly trailing across the fabric. "In a perfect world, I'd lay you down across your bed wearing nothing but these bits of lace and I'd spend the entire night doing my damnedest to drive you out of your mind."

Caitlin shivered at the dark promise in his words.

"But not tonight, Caitlin. I'm too impatient and sadly this world is far from perfect. I want you naked. Now." The hand at her back twisted, and a moment later the catch on her bra released. _Oh._

"Nice trick," she whispered against his shoulder.

"You're not the only one with hidden talents," he teased, as his hands skimmed up over her shoulders and down her arms, pulling the bra along. As it dropped to the floor, she gasped as the cooler air of the bathroom flowed over her nipples. Hot hands were on her hips sliding beneath the waistband of her panties, and then they too joined the bra on the floor.

It was with a bit of hesitancy that she reached toward his glasses, her fingers hovering a few inches from the frames. "Michael?"

"It's okay," he said softly, his eyes closing.

She pulled the glasses carefully off and then reached over to the counter to set them down, her gaze never leaving his face. With both his eyes closed, she reached up and ever so gently smoothed her thumbs across his eyelids, feeling the soft prickle of his lashes against her skin. His damaged eye had a scar that started just under his brow and sliced diagonally across the lid. It was thin and faint and would be practically invisible when he was wearing his glasses. As her fingers framed his face, he opened his eyes – one blue and one a dull white.

He was watching her again. "Does it bother you?"

She wasn't going to lie to him. "Yes. In the same way that these do." She ran her hand along the scar that crossed his collarbone, and then traced another down his stomach. "It's another reminder of how close you came to not being here." She kissed him once, her lips just grazing his. "But you _are_ here, and it's all a part of you. The price of your survival. I can accept that."

Stepping out of the last of her clothing, she led him to the shower. As he turned his back to her, she suppressed a gasp. She'd got used to the web of marks that wound down the left side of his body, but the last time they'd both been naked, he'd been seated. She'd felt the rough and mismatched skin beneath her hands but this was the first time she'd actually seen his back. Forcing down the sense of hurt she felt on his behalf, she reached out her arms, circling his waist as she pressed her body against his. Then she followed him under the spray of warm water.

Once inside the enclosure, she positioned him under the shower head so that the force of the water beat down on the intersection of his neck and shoulders. She smiled at the sigh of pleasure he let out as his body relaxed.

Chuckling, Caitlin grabbed the soap from the dish. She didn't reach for a washcloth, preferring to feel his skin slick beneath her fingers. Using soapy hands, she kneaded the taunt muscles in his neck, watching in amusement as he shifted and leaned into her touch. "Looks like I was right about you needing a nice hot shower."

"Mmmmm. It's not about the water. You make me feel good."

His softly groaned answer pleased her and yet made her a little sad as she wondered just how often Michael put aside his own comfort to deal with the dark realities of the world Archangel lived in.

Feeling much of the tension leave him, she abandoned his shoulders to run soapy hands over the rest of his body, working her way downwards. She barely skimmed his growing erection, her immediate intent to relax, rather than arouse. Kneeling, she moved on, her hands sliding down his long legs.

"Cait."

She paused to glance up at him. He was watching her, the look on his face unreadable. "Michael?"

The look turned to one of vague amusement. "You're coddling."

"I'm not-" she began, intending to deny it, before realizing she was guilty as charged. She had unconsciously lightened her touch on his bad leg, fingers barely skimming the skin. "I guess I am. Sorry."

"It's okay." He reached down, his hands on her arms urging her to her feet. "Come here."

His hair had turned from blond to bronze with the water. Droplets wound their way down his chest and she couldn't help the urge to lick one off as she rose. His eyes were hot and hungry and somehow Caitlin found it odder to see both of them than the fact that one was clouded over and sightless.

Michael turned her, his body pushing her against the tiles as he stepped forward into her. She hissed at the contact, the tiles a cold contrast to the heat of the water falling around them and the even hotter feel of his body pressing against her. His hands were slick against her sides and when one moved up to cup her breast, thumb sliding across her nipple, she couldn't help the needy whine that sounded in the back of her throat.

His mouth moved across her skin, pleased hums and softly voiced compliments sounding when he found a particularly sensitive spot on his way down to her breasts.

The sound of his voice and words aroused her more than she thought they would. Michael was a far more vocal lover than any she'd ever had and she found that she liked it, liked the sound of his voice in her ears and the feel of his lips against her as he whispered deliciously naughty things against her skin.

It was good. So very, very good and Caitlin felt the ache starting low in her belly. It pushed her up on her toes, pushing her into him, her chest rubbing against his in a foggy blur that had more to do with him than the steam from the shower.

When his hand finally reached the junction of her thighs, she'd already spread her legs for him. Caitlin gasped in the humid air of the shower enclosure, her fingers tightly gripping his shoulders. She knew her nails were biting into his back but it didn't seem as if he even noticed.

She ground against his palm as his fingers stroked her, firm and insistent, almost demanding. While his voice might have teased, his touch did not and Caitlin rocked her hips shamelessly.

"That's it, Caitlin." The words were a hot whisper against her ear, his mustache just brushing against her skin. "You said anything I want." He paused, winding the tension in her body higher. "I want you to come for me."

She couldn't have stopped it if she tried as the tension within her broke at his words. She sobbed out breaths against his shoulder as she dragged moisture laded air into her lungs and she was fairly sure that he was the only thing keeping her upright. Aftershocks ran through her body and she wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come.

Only when he shifted against her, pushing his erection against the soft, slick skin of her belly did her mind start to clear.

"Oh God, Mi-"

She felt, as much as heard, his sharp intake of breath, followed by a low curse as he suddenly froze. He was leaning against her, his forehead pressed against the tile. Alarm burned away her pleasurable haze. "Michael?"

"Damn it." She could hear the tightness in his voice. "My damn leg. Whenever I let myself forget, it reminds me every time. I can't do this, Cait. On another day, maybe, but I've been on my feet too long. Right now my knee will barely support me, there's no way it's going to hold both of us."

He pulled back from her with a sigh, his expression one of mingled embarrassment and regret. "Three years ago you'd already be wrapped around my waist."

She swallowed hard at the image his words planted in her head before placing a soft kiss against his lips. "I don't know if I would have survived you three years ago."

Her comment pulled a small smile from him. Pushing away from the wall, she reached around him to turn off the water. "It's alright, Michael. Come on. Let's get out here."

She gave him two towels and sent him off into her bedroom to dry off while she took a few minutes to gather her wits. She also collected their fallen clothing. Hers she dumped into a hamper while she hung the rest of his on the hook behind the door.

Running a towel through her own hair, she damp dried it before pulling on a robe which she tied loosely around her waist. Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down, she turned towards her bedroom. He sat on the edge of bed, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees and his head resting on his clasped hands. He radiated an almost palatable sense of nervous exhaustion mixed with defeat. The kind of exhaustion where you just want to sleep but your body is so wired you can't.

"Cait-" he began when she stepped back into the room.

She didn't know what he'd started to say, and suspected that he wasn't entirely sure either, but his expression gave him away. There was betrayal there, not directed at her but at the betrayal of his body. Even now, two and half years later, he was still coming to terms with his new limitations.

"I'm sorry, Cait," he finally said, his expression rueful. "That didn't exactly go as I had planned."

"Stop it," she said softly, stepping forward so she was standing between his knees.

"What?"

"Apologizing." She gave a tug on the tie holding her robe together and let the fabric fall open. "So shower sex is out. That's not the end of the world. I thought all you spy types—"

"Intelligence agents," he interrupted, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

She braced her hands on his shoulders as she felt his come up to frame her hips. "I thought all you _intelligence agents_ always had a back up plan. This isn't about me. Tonight is about you. What do _you_ want?"

He didn't answer for a long moment. "I want you," he finally replied. "On your back in the middle of the bed."

Slipping the robe from her shoulders, she let it slide to the floor at her feet. Pulling the blankets down, she crawled past him onto the bed and did as he'd asked.

"Damn it, Cait. This isn't what I intended, but I'm tired, my leg hurts, and I think I've used up about all my finesse," he said. The bed shifted beneath her as he moved backwards, angling his body towards hers. She sucked in a quick inhale as her body responded to the touch of his hand sliding up her leg from her ankle to her hip.

"What I _want_ ," he continued, leaning forward and scraping his teeth gently against the jut of her hip bone, "is to take you hard."

Caitlin let out a shaky breath, more moan than anything else as Michael crawled further up her body, lips and teeth marking his journey. "I want to pin you beneath me and hold you there."

He pressed his good knee into the bed beside her, one hand planted into mattress beside her head. He leaned down until his mouth just barely brushed against her own. "What I want is for you to be sweat soaked and trembling and so damn exhausted when I'm done with you than you barely know your own name."

The bed shifted again, his weight coming down partially onto her. His lips teased hers. As she opened to him, his kiss turned hard and carried the weight of everything he was feeling. Caitlin did nothing to resist, allowing him anything he wanted.

His free hand smoothed over her body, the touch firm and demanding, cupping her breast, toying with her nipples until they were hard and aching. Leaning in, he captured one in his mouth, his tongue flicking hotly against the tip.

Her body arched up into his, her fingers scrabbling desperately to find purchase on his skin. "Oh God, Michael."

"That's what I want." The words were whispered against the valley between her breasts, only slightly tinged with something like bitterness.

Before she could respond he was moving again, his pace fast and deliberate as he mapped her reactions to his every touch.

Her blood pounded in her veins and echoed in her ears. Her skin tingled everywhere he touched and ached where he didn't and Caitlin had no idea how he'd brought her to this point again so fast. He'd given her one orgasm already in the shower. She hadn't expected another, but recognized the oncoming signs within herself.

He nipped at the flesh around her belly button before soothing her skin with broad swipes of his tongue, her stomach contracting sharply at the sensation.

His voice had dropped, going huskier. "I don't get everything that I want tonight. My leg isn't going to allow for that level of . . . exertion."

Caitlin was trembling now with her own need, her hands twisting in the sheets beneath her now that he'd moved beyond her reach.

The hand not braced to hold him up slipped between her parted thighs, inched upward, spreading her apart to his hot gaze. "That doesn't mean though," he stopped to plant an open mouthed kiss mid-thigh, "that I still won't have you sweat soaked and trembling by the time I'm done with you."

He was breathing heavily, hot breath fanning against her body and sending goosebumps racing across her skin. His mouth moved higher, another kiss and lick followed. She was twisting now, unable to control her body's reactions. His hand jerked upward to clasp her thigh, pushing her knee up and away, effectively holding her body down while exposing more of her to him. She caught his wince of pain, could feel the strain in him as his position put more weight on his knee and leg. "The things I want to do to you," he growled against her, his head shaking in regret. "But first, I deserve a taste. Just one, don't you think?"

Pinned down, she felt the whimper rise in her throat. "Please."

The quick swipe of his tongue sent her bucking upward, straining against the hand holding her down. Her fingers unwound from the sheets, to brush against his still damp hair.

His next touch was slow, exploratory and testing as he learned what she liked. Her breath hitched around a sob as she fought for air and for purchase against him. She could see the corded muscle in his arm and knew that she'd have bruises on her thigh from his grip but didn't care. "Michael, please."

He lifted his head, eyes shadowed as he looked up her body. He nodded. "Only a taste then," he murmured as he rose to crawl up her body between her outstretched legs. He winced again as he moved, and she pretended not to notice.

She reached out with arms and legs to pull him down to her, skin against skin. His erection pressed against her, sliding against her sex in a way that had her tightening her arms around him.

He pushed himself up on one elbow, shifted against her. "Open your legs wider for me, Caitlin," he demanded, breath hot against her ear.

His weight was heavy against her and she reveled in the feel of him. Then he was there, pushing inside her in a hard, fast thrust that had her throwing her head back against the mattress.

Michael's body was half resting on hers as he kept most of his weight off his bad leg. The position left him angled to the side so that every push and pull forced him to rub against her – perfect sweet friction that had her panting his name even as her hips rolled upwards into his.

He was picking up momentum, each thrust a little harder and little faster than the next. Groaning now as the force of his body impacting with hers drove the air from him with each snap of his hips.

Caitlin's eyes shut. There. _There. There. There._ The words were chanted in her head and maybe out loud and she wasn't sure anymore as the twisting _need_ within her snapped. Dimly she was aware of Michael, his head bowed against her shoulder as he grunted and panted through his own release.

He came down heavily on her, his arm no longer able to hold him up. She didn't care. They lay like that, him still buried within her, for long moments before he shifted off of her with a sigh. She missed his weight and warmth almost immediately.

She moved to get up. "Let me just get cleaned up. I'll be right back."

When she returned a moment later from the bathroom with a warm washrag in her hand, he was still sprawled in blissful abandon across her bed, once again looking like a debauched angel. He hummed in pleasure as she ran the cloth along his skin. "Better?"

He blinked up sleepily at her, that wayward smirk still making her stomach do loops. "You're spoiling me."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." She couldn't help reaching forward and smoothing a hand through his hair. "Sleep for a few hours."

"I should-"

"You said yourself that you're too tired to be of use to anyone. The phone is here if anyone needs you and Airwolf is still a long way from the Red Sea. Sleep."

"I need to be at Knightsbridge by nine."

"You'll want time to go home and change?"

He shook his head slightly. "I keep a go-bag in my trunk."

She moved to get up again, planning to grab a blanket and sleep on the couch, but stopped when his hand caught her arm. "Stay."

"I won't disturb you? Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable alone?"

He sighed, as much asleep as awake. "Don't coddle. I want you here. Stay."

She shouldn't. They shouldn't. But she nodded, turning to the alarm at her bedside and setting it to go off at seven-thirty. _What in the hell am I doing?_ She didn't have an answer and wasn't sure she wanted to examine the question too closely. But she didn't complain when he pulled her down and curled his body around hers, instead simply tugging the covers over them both.


	3. Chapter 3

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 3**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

"Michael?"

Rousing slowly from the depths of sleep, he let the voice pull him back to the surface. There was a moment of disorientation that disappeared as memories of the night before snapped into place, sending a sense of satisfaction through him.

He turned his head and found Caitlin standing in the doorway. She gave him a smile. "Good morning."

Michael returned the smile. "Good morning, yourself." He glanced over at the clock. It was just short of seven-thirty.

She leaned against the door frame. "I shut the alarm off. Go get yourself cleaned up and dressed. I found your keys in your pants pocket and brought your bag in. It's in the bathroom."

He sat up on the edge of the bed. "You're definitely spoiling me."

"Someone needs to. Go. I'm making breakfast." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Michael levered himself to his feet and stood for a moment, grimacing as he flexed his knee, working the stiffness out of his leg. _He hated the limitations it put on him._ There were times when he wondered whether fighting so hard to keep it had actually been worth it. Sighing, he headed into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later he joined Caitlin in the kitchen, dressed in white shirt and pants with his hair nearly dry. She was standing at the stove, putting the final touches on a pan of eggs. He came up behind her and leaned in to kiss her shoulder.

She reached up to stroke his cheek. "Hope you like your eggs scrambled."

"Scrambled is fine. What can I do to help you?"

Caitlin gestured toward the cupboard. "Plates. Silverware is in the drawer."

He set the table, and then poured coffee while she served the eggs with bacon from the microwave.

"How'd you sleep?" she asked, as she slid into her chair.

"Like a log." It was unusual for him to sleep that soundly. Years as a field agent had turned him into a light sleeper and the nagging ache in his leg only exacerbated that. "I guess that I did need it." He pushed the eggs around on his plate. "Thank you."

Her eyes lit with amusement. "For?"

"Convincing me to stay. Among other things."

She broke into a full smile. "I think I should be thanking you. For those other things."

He laughed at that. "Let's say we call it even."

They were both silent as they ate. Finally Caitlin pushed her plate away. "Can I ask a favor?"

He dabbed at his mustache with a napkin. "Anything in my power."

"I want to be there today when they attack that boat. At Knightsbridge with you, I mean. I'll feel better if I know what's going on."

"I'll let the front desk know you're coming. They'll have a pass waiting." He liked the idea of her being there. From a tactical perspective, she knew Airwolf and its capabilities. On a personal level, he was starting to realize how much he enjoyed her presence. _Even when they weren't both naked._ "Come in around noon, one o'clock?"

"Sounds good." She started clearing their dishes.

He rose to help her, bringing his plate to the sink. She stopped him as he went back for the coffee cups. "I'll get that. You need to get going."

As much as he would rather stay there with her, she was right. He gathered the rest of his clothes and the briefcase phone. "I'll see you this afternoon?"

She kissed him once, pulling away before they both got lost in the contact. "Go," she said, smiling. "I'll catch up with you later."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

The receptionist at the front entrance gave her the visitor's badge Michael had left for her along with a lecture about keeping it prominently displayed. It wasn't anything that Caitlin didn't already know; this wasn't her first visit to the Firm's western headquarters.

The white-suited angel working in Michael's outer office was one that Caitlin had never formally met, but it appeared she was expected as she was greeted warmly and waved through.

"Ah, Caitlin. You're here." Her gaze followed the sound of his voice to where Michael stood beside Samantha, the two of them facing a giant screen that took up most of one wall of the office. The screen currently showed a map of the Middle East. "I spoke with Hawke a short time ago. They're on schedule. Refueled on Crete, and are currently over the Mediterranean." He gestured toward the map, and a flashing blip that no doubt indicated Airwolf's position.

There was nothing in either his words or his manner to suggest that twelve hours earlier, he had been deep inside her, his hands and lips finding erogenous zones that she'd never even known she had. _If he could do it, so could she._ "They picked up the SEAL team?" she asked, moving toward the others.

Sam nodded. "They're on board."

Caitlin didn't envy the SEALs. Airwolf had never been intended as a personnel transport. It was crowded enough with just the crew of three and someone in the jump seat, she couldn't imagine how they'd fit four SEALs plus all their equipment.

Michael crossed to his desk. Leaning over it, he flipped open a folder and riffled through the papers inside. "Sam, do we have a weather update?"

"I believe the last was this morning, sir. Would you like me to see if there's anything more recent?"

"Please."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as the door had closed behind Samantha, Michael's expression softened. "I'm glad you're here."

"So am I."

"You know we can't - not here."

"I know." She noted the way he was standing, supporting most of his weight on his right side. "How's the leg?"

He shrugged. "About the same."

Which meant, no doubt, that he'd been on it all morning. Huffing an exasperated sigh, she pointed to the white leather chair that sat unused behind his desk. "You have a very comfortable looking chair. Use it."

Michael laughed at that. "Still bossy, I see." Despite his words, he did circle the desk and lower himself into the chair. He leaned back, propping his leg on the corner of his desk. "Better?"

"Much." She might have said more, but Sam chose that moment to return, so instead Caitlin dropped onto the oversized sofa that ran along the wall to Michael's right. _Maybe if she stayed put, it would encourage him to do likewise._

There was an almost imperceptible hint of a raised eyebrow as Sam entered. She was good at hiding it, but Caitlin sensed that Sam was surprised to find her boss seated behind his desk. "The latest weather report, Sir." Sam held out the report to him as she approached. "There's little change."

Michael took the papers from her and quickly scanned them. "Good. That's one less factor to worry about."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Samantha had left them again, this time to fetch coffee and snacks. In her absence, Michael rose and crossed to her computer, standing before the monitor.

Remaining on the sofa, Caitlin sighed. "Will you sit down before you fall over? You're not going to instill much confidence in your people when you land your ass on the floor."

"I'm fine."

"Did I mention that I don't plan on catching you when you go down?"

He let out a small chuckle. "Have you always been this bossy?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes. Whose job do you think it is to drag String down from his mountaintop every time he gets all moody?" Sometimes she wondered if it was the only reason Dom kept her around.

"Ah, so you've had practice with stubborn." He gave her what she thought was supposed to be a reassuring smile, not that she was buying it. "My people take good care of me."

"No," she countered. "Your people take good care of Archangel. No one, including you, seems inclined to take care of Michael."

He chuckled again at that, although he did return to his seat behind the desk. "They're one and the same, Cait."

"They are, and they're not." Caitlin would have continued, but the door opened to Sam and Lydia bearing cups of coffee and Danish pastries. _It was probably just as well._ She wasn't sure how she would explain something she herself was only beginning to see.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin stood at the ladies' room sink, washing the remains of the Danish from her fingers. As she shut the water off and reached for a paper towel, Sam opened the door and joined her. "Delicious, but a little too sticky, don't you think?" Caitlin asked, as she dried her hands.

"Sticky? Oh. Yes." Sam turned on the tap and gave her hands a quick half-hearted rinse that made Caitlin think that cleaning her hands had never been Sam's intention.

That was confirmed as Sam took the towel she handed to her. "Caitlin, I wanted to thank you. I don't know how you managed to get Archangel to sit down, but thank you."

Caitlin waved a hand in protest, not wanting Sam to get suspicious. "Really, I didn't do-"

Sam cut her off. "It must have been you because Lord knows I tried all morning and he just ignored me."

"It's probably because he's so used to being harassed by Dom and String. I'm just one of the guys at this point. They are all pretty stubborn when it comes to ignoring good advice."

Sam gave a laugh at that. "That's an understatement. He had ice on his knee when I first came in, but the minute we started getting reports. . ."

"I can guess. Up and pacing around the office." Caitlin hesitated. She knew he wouldn't approve, but the opportunity to learn more than he would ever tell her was too appealing to pass up. "How bad is it? His leg, I mean?"

 _The look Sam gave her suggested she was sizing her up. Deciding whether she was enemy or ally. A decision apparently made in her favor._ Sam lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. "He doesn't complain, but sometimes when he doesn't think anyone is looking. . ." Another shrug.

Caitlin nodded her agreement. "Yeah. I've noticed."

Sam turned to open the door, and paused with her hand on the knob. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but before she was transferred, Marella asked me to take care of him. She said that she'd seen the x-rays and that there's more metal than bone holding his leg together."

 _And he was upset because his leg wouldn't handle sex in the shower?_ Caitlin hoped that her face didn't betray her thoughts. "Thanks."

"I'd better get back." Sam slipped out of the room.

It wouldn't do for Michael to know they'd been talking about him in the bathroom. Caitlin gave Sam a couple minutes head start before she followed. By the time she got back to Michael's office, Samantha was manning a computer terminal at the far end, marking Airwolf's progress.

Caitlin took her previous seat on the sofa, picking nervously at a hangnail. She itched to be doing something, even if that something was no more than anxious pacing, but she forced herself to remain in her seat. If she rose, Michael would take it as an excuse to do the same, and he didn't need to be on his feet.

For the moment, he was behind his desk, seated in that oversized white leather chair that would have looked truly ridiculous in anyone else's office. He was leaning back, leg stretched before him, motionless except for the silent tapping of his fingers on the desk's blotter that revealed his own restlessness.

Beyond the office's windows, the sky was starting to pinken. Scattered clouds alternated with streaks of gold and orange, the hues darkening even as she watched. The colors of the sky framed Michael, his blond hair and the white of his suit seeming to glow against the vibrant backdrop.

It brought a smile to her face, one that Michael spotted. "Caitlin?" he asked, quirking an amused brow in her direction.

She considered brushing off the question, then decided to answer honestly. "The sunset behind you makes it look like you have a halo." Out of the corner of her eye, Caitlin saw Sam snicker before quickly covering her mouth with her hand and turning away.

Michael was similarly amused. "Appropriate, don't you think?" He turned to look out the window. "There were larger offices in the building, but one of the reasons I wanted this one was the view."

"Do you always get what you want?"

His lips tilted upwards in that smirk she loved so much.

Caitlin fought the blush that threatened to rise while holding his steady gaze.

"Eventually."

She was saved, ironically, by Hawke and Airwolf.

"Sir, Airwolf is nearing the target." Sam typed something into the keyboard before her, and a green blip appeared on the large view screen.

With a look towards Caitlin that almost dared her to complain, Michael rose and moved to Sam's side. As much as Caitlin wished he would stay off his leg, she understood the pull of that single flashing dot. There might be little actual information they could glean from it, but it was their only link to what was happening on the other side of the globe. She took up a position behind Sam, at Michael's side.

When he had first assigned String the mission, Michael had provided them satellite photos of the cruise ship and the pirate's base of operations. Now, Caitlin closed her eyes, bringing up those images in her mind. A touch on her arm drew Caitlin's attention, and she looked up into Michael's gaze. He squeezed her shoulder. "This is Hawke's bailiwick, Cait. They'll be fine."

She nodded. Had they been alone, she might have commented on how he always knew the right words. _If he wanted to consider that manipulation, then she didn't mind being manipulated._

Dom's static-laden voice came over the intercom. "Strike Team going in."

Caitlin closed her eyes again. "Hawke will bring the Lady in silent. He'll skim just a few feet above the water, getting the SEALs as close as possible."

Sam made a noise and Caitlin opened her eyes to give a rueful smile to them both. "Sorry, that wasn't supposed to be out loud."

Michael was staring at her thoughtfully, his attention focused and sharp. "No, continue."

She wasn't sure what else to say until Dom's voice once again crackled over the speaker. "Package delivered safely."

Caitlin focused on the blinking dot representing Airwolf, her hand ghosting across an invisible console. "Now that he's dropped the SEALs, String'll back off, putting distance between him and the ship before climbing."

She glanced over at Michael. He gave her a nod to continue. "He'll probably keep stealth-mode and climb high. If there's sufficient cloud cover, he may stay lower and hide." Her fingers flittered across controls only she could see. "He'll call for thermals to monitor both movement on the ship and the SEALs even though he's listening for them to call in the strike. String'll want to know if something is going wrong."

The computer console made a clicking noise as Sam read something on her monitor. "The Strike Team is on board and heading towards their targets."

As they waited for the next move, Michael sifted through several of the satellite photos of the cruise ship. He finally settled on one slightly grainy view of its entire length. The positions of several gunmen had been marked on the photo in some kind of red marker. He handed Cait the photo as Sam called, "Strike Team is in position and calling in Airwolf."

Caitlin nodded. "String will bring her in here." She pointed to the aft end of the ship where more of the pirates were concentrated. He'll come in hot and loud and let her scream."

"The perfect, lethal diversion."

Her smile was quick. "That's what the Lady does best."

Silence fell again as they watched the screen and waited for news. Long, tense minutes were finally ended by Sam. "Primary target neutralized. Airwolf-"

Sam was interrupted by Dom, his voice through the speaker sounding tight with adrenaline, "Heading to secondary target location."

Even flying on turbos, it would take a little time for Airwolf to reach their next target. Caitlin knew they had time to sit for a few minutes, but she was too keyed, and suspected Michael was as well. Taking back the ship had been primarily a danger to the SEALs and the ship's passengers, but the assault on the pirate's base of operations would bring all of their ire and weapons to bear on Airwolf.

It was unlikely that their pistols and machine guns would do any harm to the armor-clad helicopter, but one well placed Stinger could easily turn Airwolf into a rain of flaming debris. Caitlin wished she was there, behind the engineering console, freeing Dom to assist String with targeting. An extra set of eyes could easily be the difference in keeping them safe.

"Fifty miles out." Sam announced, changing the display to center on the mark that represented Airwolf.

Michael rifled through the stack of photographs again and pulled out one that she remembered from the initial briefing. The base was cut into the side of a sheer limestone cliff at the far end of a wide-mouthed canyon, easily defensible from ground attacks originating either below or above. The only thing that could reach them with relative impunity was a fast, highly maneuverable aircraft.

 _Caitlin could picture the scene as String saw it. Although the sun was nearly set in Thousand Oaks, Airwolf was still flying through the pre-dawn darkness over the Egyptian coast._ She mentally crossed her fingers. _If their compatriots on the cruise ship hadn't managed to contract home base before they were overrun, most of the pirates might be sleeping, leaving only a skeleton group of guards on alert._

"According to our telemetry, Airwolf is over the target." Sam's normally even voice inched up half an octave. "They should be engaging. . . now."

Once again, Cait gave voice to what none of them could see, but only imagine. "Dom will be using the infrared scanners, picking out targets for String, although it won't be as effective through all the stone. Sunbursts to redirect incoming heat-seekers. Raking the cliff with the chain guns. Maybe bringing a Bullpup online, just in case."

There were several long minutes as they all waited silently, watching that solitary radar blip as if it could tell them what was going on. Finally, the radio crackled once more. A moment later the static was broken by Dom's voice. "Mission accomplished. We're ready to head home."

Caitlin watched the tension go out of Michael, his shoulders visibly relaxing at the words. He waved Sam off and reached forward to pick up the radio mic himself. "Good work. Before you leave the area, run thermal and motion detection scans. I want to be sure we've solved this problem once and for all. We'll be in touch with route and refueling." He hesitated just a beat before keying the radio again. "Thank you both."

"Roger that. Awaiting further instructions."

Michael handed the mic to Sam. "Find them a place to set down and get some rest, then set a flight plan and refueling stops. If he has a preference, give Hawke whatever he wants."

"Yes, Sir." Sam stood. "And you, Sir?"

"Getting the hell out of here. It's all yours."

"Very good, Sir. Will you be in tomorrow?"

Michael sighed. "Probably not until afternoon. Leave word that if anyone needs me in the morning, they can call the house."

Sam nodded and returned to her computer. The screen Caitlin saw her pull up displayed the positions of US resources in and around the Mediterranean. _Sam would be putting in some overtime, no doubt._

"Can I walk you out?" Michael asked.

"Certainly." Caitlin joined him as he made his way through the maze of hallways.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Outside, the sun had dropped well below the trees, leaving behind only a red-purple stain on the western sky. Walking out toward the parking lot in a companionable silence, Michael hesitated and glanced over at her as they reached the curb. "I was wondering if you'd like to get something to eat?"

His question caught her by surprise. Thinking back, she'd had nothing but a Danish since the quick sandwich she'd grabbed before heading for Knightsbridge. Chances were that he hadn't eaten anything substantial since she'd made him breakfast. "Sounds good."

"You mind driving? There's not much sense in taking both cars; if you'll drop me at my place when we're finished, I can call for a limo to bring me in tomorrow."

"I don't mind." However, she couldn't resist teasing. "You like being chauffeured, don't you?"

He shrugged. "One of the perks of the job. Actually, I enjoy driving, but dealing with LA traffic. . . ."

Caitlin couldn't fault him for that. Having learned to drive on the open roads of rural Texas, the 101 tried her patience on the best of days. She led him out toward her Datsun, mentally kicking herself for having put off its monthly wash and wax. "I'm afraid it's not exactly a Mercedes." She had bought the 280 ZX shortly after she'd joined the Highway Patrol. Now, more than five years and nearly a hundred thousand miles later, the car was starting to show its age.

"It doesn't need to be, as long as it gets you where you're going." Reaching her car, Michael took off his jacket and tucked it into the crowded space behind the passenger's seat. His tie soon joined it. "Any preference on dinner?" He asked, as he got into the car, sliding the seat back to give himself more leg room before closing the door.

Getting behind the wheel, Caitlin glanced down at herself, taking in the simple blouse and slacks she wore. _She had wanted to dress up for Michael, but showing up at Knightsbridge in heels and a skirt would have been more than a little suspicious._ "I'm not dressed for anything fancy."

"There's a place I stop occasionally. Head down the 101 to Agoura Hills, then take Kanan north."

She did as he asked. For once, traffic was flowing smoothly, and it wasn't long before he was directing her into a shopping center's parking lot. It wasn't the sort of place she'd expected and she raised a brow in surprise, an expression lost on Michael as she was on his blind side.

"Michael?" She asked, looking around, trying to figure out exactly where he intended to eat.

"Antonio's. Best pizza in town. If you don't care for pizza, they also have excellent seafood."

Caitlin pulled the car into a spot, chuckling. "I wouldn't have picked you for a pizza connoisseur," she said, as she got out of the car.

He grinned at her. "There's a lot that you don't know about me." Coming around the car, he took her elbow. "Shall we?"

The restaurant was fairly quiet, and Michael led her to a booth in the back. "Want to split a pizza?" he asked, as they took their seats.

"Sure."

"What would you like on it?"

"Anything but anchovies."

"A special?"

"Fine."

Their waitress was an older woman who obviously knew Michael – and who eyed her in a way that made Caitlin think that he usually dined alone.

"We'd like a medium special, no anchovies and no onions," Michael told her. "A couple beers-" He shot a glance toward Caitlin, "Heineken?" At her answering nod, he turned back to the waitress. "Two Heinekens."

Caitlin couldn't hide her smile as their server went to place their order.

"What?" he asked, amused.

"I never really pictured you as a beer drinker, either, at least not when there was wine on the menu."

"Told you there's a lot you don't know."

"Oh, I'm sure of that." She paused while their waitress brought their beers. Tecate would normally have been her brand of choice, but the Heineken wasn't bad. "So what else don't I know about you?"

He seemed to consider the question. "I'm a decent cook, when I want to be. I speak fluent Russian, passable German, and enough French and Spanish to make a fool of myself. I learned to play the piano when I was eight, not that I've played in years." Michael took a swallow of his beer. "Your turn. What don't I know about you?"

She laughed at that. "I seriously doubt if there's much you don't know. I'm sure you ran me through a security check a long time ago."

"Perhaps." The corner of his mouth twisted in a grin. "On the other hand, until you told me, I didn't know about – what was his name – Bobby Joe Lincoln?"

Caitlin felt the heat rise in her face. She gave him a mock scowl. "You are. . . " Her voice tapered off as she searched for an appropriate word.

"Incorrigible?" he suggested.

"Worse."

They were interrupted by the arrival of their pizza. Each took a slice, and Caitlin bit into hers. He was right, it was excellent. "So," she began, after she'd swallowed, "You don't care for onions?"

That damned smirk was back. "I love onions. I just wasn't sure that I wanted them on my breath tonight. Or on yours."

 _Oh_. The sudden flutter she felt in her stomach had nothing to do with what she was eating.

She knew that the look on her face had revealed her thoughts when he continued. "If you'll be kind enough to allow me to redeem myself, I'd like to finish what I started last night."

 _Redeem himself?_ While she knew the night hadn't gone exactly the way he'd initially intended, there was certainly nothing he needed to redeem himself for. She set about telling him as much. "Michael, last night was wonderful." She knew her face was reddening again. "And as far as finishing what you started? I know I finished. Twice."

His smile was both lecherous and challenging. "I can do better."

The thought of Michael "doing better" was enough to send a stream of goosebumps rippling up her spine. She took a bite of her pizza, using the time it afforded her to regain a little of her composure. "That sounds like an incredibly intriguing proposition, but. . . "

"But?"

"But you didn't get that much sleep last night, and I know your leg is still bothering you. I have to think that the smart thing would be for you to go home and go to bed. Alone."

"What would be the fun in that? Cait, I slept longer and more soundly last night than I usually do. As for the leg, well, the shower's still not an option, but it's better than it was. Seems like someone gave me hell every time I tried to get out of my chair this afternoon." He chuckled. "And don't think that I don't know that Sam was in league with you on that."

"You're sure you're up for this?"

"I am. I'm yours for the night, if it's what you want."

It _was_ what she wanted, there was no question in her mind of that.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Michael paid for their dinner and they returned to the car. He gave her directions to his house.

Caitlin had no more than pulled out of the parking lot before she felt the light touch on her knee, fingertips just grazing the fabric. It wasn't _too_ distracting until those fingers started working their way up her thigh. She caught the offending hand with her own to keep it from moving any higher. "Michael! I don't think the committee will be very happy if I drive off the road and get you killed in a car accident."

"You might be surprised." His words were without rancor, but also without humor.

The seriousness of his tone startled her. "Really? I mean, I know you don't always get along with the committee, but. . . "

He shrugged. "I have a fairly low tolerance for the political bullshit that goes on. It tends to make me a bit of a thorn. Zeus and several of the others would be more than happy to be rid of me."

She felt a pang of sympathy for him. "What ever possessed you to join the Firm?"

Michael gave his head a small shake. "Long story. Too long and maudlin for tonight." He gestured. "The house is up ahead on the right."

The darkness kept her from getting a good look, but she got the impression of a sprawling house on a piece of property that would be considered vast by Los Angeles standards. She parked in front of the garage and shut off the engine, suddenly nervous, although she wasn't sure exactly why.

"Coming?"

 _There were a hundred reasons why she shouldn't._ Not quite trusting herself to speak, she opened the car door and got out before she could change her mind.

Reaching into what passed for a back seat, Michael retrieved his jacket and tie then joined her, leading her up the walk to the front door. He unlocked it, and then guided her into the house, switching on a light and tossing his jacket onto the back of a chair.

She had a quick impression of paneling and dark leather furniture before he closed the few scant inches between them. A moment later his lips were on hers, hungry and demanding, taking her breath away.

He finally pulled back. "I've wanted to do that all day."

"So have I," she admitted.

Michael kissed her again, more tenderly this time, running his fingers up her arms then down to circle her waist. He began tugging at her blouse, finally freeing it from her waistband. "I want you naked. Naked and writhing beneath me." His hands slipped beneath the hem of her blouse and found her bra, his thumbs teasing her nipples through the lace. His lips traced the line of her jaw until he found her ear and he whispered into it. "I want to fuck you. I want to make you come until you beg me to stop."

His words, hot and raw and so unlike his usually polished, elegant persona, were enough to send desire coursing through her. "Please," she answered, her one word plea as desperate as his own words.

Michael chuckled softly against her skin. "I thought you'd never ask."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

There was enough light from the hallway for him to watch Caitlin sleep. She was spooned against his chest, one hand resting on his where he'd draped his arm around her.

She would be sore when she woke. He had lost track of just how many times she had orgasmed, but he had certainly achieved his goal of leaving her sweat-soaked, trembling and exhausted. Even now her hair was still damp where it rested against his shoulder. He resisted the urge to run his fingers through it.

 _This had to stop._ Taking her to dinner had been a mistake. Bringing her back to the house had been a bigger one. He wished he could blame it on a moment of weakness, but he knew that on some level, he had been planning it all day.

It was one thing when it had been the simple release of physical tension, but somehow in such a short time it had become more than that. He found that he enjoyed her company, and it was obvious that she enjoyed his. Caitlin had looked at him without flinching. Not just at the scars, but at him. She knew who he was, what he was, what he was capable of, and it didn't scare her away. There hadn't been anyone like that in his life for a long time. _No one since Maria._

He couldn't allow himself to fall for her. That was a path that could only lead to disaster. Hawke would have his head; while the pilot might not be interested in Cait, he was certainly protective. Worse, even if he could convince Hawke that his intentions were noble, there was still the matter of Zeus and the committee. They had long claimed that his friendship with Hawke colored his judgment. He could only imagine the fallout if they learned he was involved with Caitlin.

Sighing in her sleep, she snuggled more tightly against him. _Lord, but she felt good in his arms._ He knew he shouldn't, but he pulled her gently against him, careful not to wake her. In the morning he'd find a way to explain. Until then, he would allow himself a bit of fantasy.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin was accustomed to waking alone, not with the warmth of another body behind her and a strong arm wrapped casually around her. It was a nice feeling, and she allowed herself to revel in it until she felt Michael shift. Knowing he was awake, she edged herself over and rolled onto her back.

He was propped on one elbow, watching her with the faintest of smiles just creasing his lips. "Hi."

It was still a little strange to see him without the glasses. "Hi, yourself."

His fingertips ran along her arm, the lightest of touches. "How do you feel?"

The question prompted her to stretch, toes reaching towards the far end of the bed. She groaned softly at the low, dull ache in her thighs and across the muscles of her stomach. "Like I was ridden hard and put away wet."

"I'm sorry."

A sly smile curved her lips. "You don't look sorry. In fact, I'd say you look downright smug." Her smile widened. "Last night – I've never had anyone do anything like that to me before. I didn't think I could-" She had come at least a half dozen times, to his hands, his mouth, that wonderful thick cock. Once, just from listening to him describe what he planned to do to her.

Michael chuckled. "Always happy to oblige a beautiful woman."

"I've got to get up for a minute." She edged her way out from beneath the covers and stood, her legs still wobbly as she made her way into the bathroom. There, she glanced into the mirror.

Her lips were swollen, the skin of her throat and neck blotched with red where he'd sucked and nipped at her. She reached up with a fingertip and gently circled a bruise on her collarbone, the action sending goosebumps dancing across her skin. She was glad that String and Dom were still on their way back from the Red Sea. With luck the marks would fade before they returned. It was too warm to show up at Santini Air wearing a turtleneck.

At some point Michael's cast-off shirt had ended up on the bathroom sink. She picked it up and slipped it on, buttoning a few of the buttons to keep it closed. She wasn't entirely certain where she had shed her own clothes, and even if he didn't have any close neighbors, she didn't want to wander the house in her birthday suit looking for her underwear.

Returning to the bedroom, she found him sitting in bed, back against the headboard and legs stretched in front of him. Still bare-chested, he had put on a pair of pants and his glasses.

"You look better in that than I do." That damned smirk was back.

She smoothed her hands down the front of the shirt. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not." He let out a long sigh before patting the bed beside him. "Cait, we need to talk."

She crawled onto the bed, folding her legs beneath her. "Michael?" she asked, when he didn't continue.

"Cait." He gave his head a tiny, almost invisible shake. "Cait, we can't do this again."

"Oh." It shouldn't have surprised her. It had initially been, after all, a one-time thing. Stress relief after they'd both been scant seconds from being blown to bits. When he had shown up at her apartment, she had hoped that his acceptance of her offer might mean there could be something more, but she had no reason to expect that. Cait turned her face away from him, hoping he wouldn't see the disappointment written there. "It's okay. I understand."

"No, I don't think you do." His fingers on her jaw gently forced her to look at him. "I've enjoyed your company and not just the unclothed parts. Cait, if it was just Hawke and Santini, I'd find a way around them." A ghost of that smirk crossed his face. "Or maybe a way through them. But they aren't the problem."

Her eyes widened in surprised at his words. He wanted to continue? She thought about what he didn't say and what she knew of his world. It wasn't hard to put together the pieces. "Zeus?"

He nodded. "Zeus. The committee." He let out a sigh. "That cruise ship - if I'd had my way, those pirates would have been dealt with months ago, and it never would have happened. God damned politics. If the committee spent half of the time and energy they spend playing politics and infighting among themselves dealing with our actual enemies, the world would be a much safer place.

"After Moffett - after that bastard nearly killed me - they tried to force me into medical retirement. They've used my relationship with Hawke against me more than once. Cait, I can't give them anything else that they can use, and you can be damn sure that they would use you. No matter how much I might want – I can't let that happen. And I don't want you hurt, not because of me or any relationship you might have with me."

She understood. She did, whether she liked it or not. Caitlin nodded, not sure she trusted herself to speak.

"I wish things could be different. I wish. . . ." Michael shook his head. His hand ran along her jaw once more before dropping to his side. "I shouldn't have brought you here, but I was being unbearably self-absorbed and selfish. Can you forgive me?"

She could hear the sadness in his voice, and it tugged at her own emotions. "Of course." She reached out and ran her fingertips along his jaw line, memorizing the feel of his stubble against her hand. "For what it's worth, I think you should be a little more selfish more often. You don't take enough care of yourself."

He leaned across to give her one last, quick kiss, "Thank you." Then sliding out of bed, he held out his hand to her. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I'm not going to let you leave on an empty stomach."


	4. Chapter 4

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter Four**

 _Co written by Caeria and deb_

"You should have seen it, Cait. Here's this great big boat-" Dom's hands spread wide to indicate the size of the craft, "-with these four guys sneaking around in wet suits. They had half the pirates taken care of before we even started shooting! And when they said they wanted a diversion, String let her loose." Dom's hand came down in a slaloming motion. "He dive bombed the ship and skimmed along the upper deck."

"What she should have seen was how the SEALs managed to pack themselves into The Lady. Four men, air tanks, flippers and the rest of their gear." Hawke leaned back in his chair and rested a glass of lemonade on his knee. Unlike Dom, he was flying first thing in the morning. Hawke grinned at her. "I don't want to hear you complaining any more about how crowded it is in the back."

"Hey, a girl's got to have her space." Caitlin brought in a bag of chips and another beer for Dom then settled onto the other end of the sofa, mindful of the Italian's grandiose gestures. "So you didn't have any trouble, then?"

"Other than the overcrowding, the assault on the boat was pretty uneventful. I thought you were doing to go out to Knightsbridge and follow the action? Or did Michael get tired of you and kick you out?"

Hawke's mention of Michael stirred memories. Almost of their own accord, her fingers went to her collarbone, brushing the lingering remains of the fading bruise through the fabric of her shirt. Luckily, the mark was low enough on her shoulder that it didn't show. "No, he didn't throw me out. I was at Knightsbridge, but trying to follow the action via a few radio calls and the radar telemetry is nothing like being there." It had, in fact, given her a perspective on how Michael surely felt every time he sent them on a mission.

"Things didn't get tricky till we hit their base," Dom said, jumping back into his story. "Then all hell broke loose. The crazy bastards started firing mortars at us – or at least in our general direction." There was more waving, a motion that seemed to suggest a wave of enemy projectiles spewing forth. "Not that they could really aim the things, but it sure kept String busy bobbing and weaving."

Hawke shrugged. "Better them than the Stingers we thought they had. I'd rather deal with a barrage of mortars than heat-seekers."

"Well, that's sort of how it ended. String fired a couple of Mavericks, and the heat pulled them right into the mortar tubes. Brought the whole cliff down."

Caitlin's gaze flashed between the two men. She knew them both too well. Hawke would downplay whatever had actually transpired, while Dom would turn one mortar into twelve. The truth undoubtedly lay somewhere between. "I'm sorry I missed it, but you're both back safe and sound. That's the most important thing."

"Well, I don't know about that. I damn near got frostbite up at Thule. Never been so cold in my damn life."

"You're just getting old," Hawke teased.

"Hey! You were complaining about the weather just as much as I was."

Her attention on Santini, she didn't pay attention as Hawke levered himself to his feet and headed for her bathroom.

"You think I'm kidding, Cait. It never got above zero either time we were there. Windy, too. I've gotta say, judging from their reaction, I don't think they see a lot of helicopters up there."

Before Caitlin could answer, Hawke returned. "So, who's your new beau?"

 _Beau? Did he mean Michael? How the hell-?_ She tried her best to keep her voice level. "What new beau?"

"The one who left his fancy cufflinks next to your sink."

 _Caitlin bit back a groan. She'd seen them there, that morning after he'd left. She meant to return them, but she hadn't wanted to do it at Knightsbridge. And, if she was truly honest with herself, she rather liked having a reminder of Michael around._

She spit out the first thing she could think of. "Don't be silly. Those are mine."

Hawke raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You've taken to wearing cufflinks?"

Well, that story might not been the best idea she'd ever had, but now that she'd said it, the only option was to play it through. "I can see you don't read a lot of fashion magazines, String. Wearing men's shirts is the new thing this year."

Hawke snorted. "I swear, if they said potato sacks were in style. . ." He shook his head. "If I find any of my clothes missing, at least I'll know where to look. Come on Dom. One of us has to work in the morning."

Once she had ushered the two men out, Caitlin went into the bathroom and retrieved the pair of cufflinks. She stood there fingering them for a long moment before taking them into the bedroom and stashing them in a corner of her jewelry box. _She would find an opportunity to give them back, she promised herself. Eventually._

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Busy rebuilding the tail rotor assembly from the used Hughes that Dom had just purchased, Hawke didn't stop to investigate the car he heard pull to a halt outside. He did, though, note the solid thunk of the Mercedes door being slammed shut. He looked up to see Michael headed into the hanger.

"We've got company," Hawke said quietly to Dom, nodding in the direction of the approaching agent.

Dom rolled his eyes. "Great. Just what we need right now, another mission. String, as much as I love the Lady, we've got that film shoot for Paramount. If we put them off again, we're going to lose the gig."

"Yeah." Hawke grabbed a shop rag and wiped the grease from his hands. Michael always seemed to show up at the most inopportune times. Running Santini Air as a successful business was hard enough without the occasional unplanned excursion half-way around the globe.

"Gentlemen," the agent said, as he reached them.

Dom scowled, no doubt expecting the worst. "What is it this time, Michael?" he asked, his tone echoing his displeasure. "What crisis do you need Airwolf to avert today? Madman with a nuke? Gunrunners? Somebody overthrowing a friendly third-world government?"

Michael shook his head. "Nothing so earth shattering, Dominic. I'm not looking for Airwolf." He paused. "I'd like to hire an aircraft and a pilot for a few days." He looked toward Hawke, then back towards Dom. "Either of you will do. I need to be in Odessa, Texas starting tomorrow and through the weekend. I realize this is last minute and I understand the inconvenience. Whatever your usual rate it, I'll double it."

 _That_ was unexpected. Hawke knew that normally Dom would welcome the business, but they were already committed. "Can't do it, Michael. Dom and I have a contract flying for Paramount. Besides, don't you have a staff for that?"

"This isn't business, Hawke. It's personal." Michael fidgeted, one long finger stroking his mustache. Hawke knew he was stalling. "Family funeral," Michael finally admitted.

Which explained a lot. Including, Hawke suspected, why he didn't want to use someone from the Firm. "Sorry." He saw Dom nod in agreement, his expression softening.

Michael appeared to take a sudden interest in the head of his cane. He shrugged slightly. "We weren't close, but I need to put in an appearance."

There was a whole lot there that Michael wasn't saying, Hawke was sure of that, and he felt something of a pang of sympathy. That didn't change the facts, though. "I wish we could help you, but as I said, we're already under contract. Have you checked commercial flights into Midland?"

"I have. I can't make the connections work." He scowled. "Hawke, when it comes to flying I trust your judgment. You've got plenty of contacts in the business. Can you recommend someone else who might be interested? As I said, I'll pay double whatever is standard, and I'll put the pilot up at a 5-star for the duration."

Hawke considered it. He knew a perfectly good pilot, one who could use the money. The only problem was that he just wasn't sure he liked the idea of her spending that much time in the agent's company. He did trust Michael, in his own way, but dealing with Michael always came with strings. Finally, Hawke pushed away his concerns and turned toward the office. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. "Caitlin!"

A moment later the office door opened. "String, did you-" She spotted Michael. To String it almost seemed as if she froze for a second before a smile graced her face. "Oh, hello." She stepped from the office, closing the door behind her. A moment later she had joined them. "So, what's up? Have we got a mission?"

"There's no mission," Hawke answered, noting her slight frown of disappointment at the news. "You've been pleading poverty lately. I've got a job for you." He fought a grin. "I'm not so sure about the company, but the pay is good."

That definitely piqued her interest. "Hey, good company doesn't pay the rent. What's the job?" She glanced toward Michael. "Let me guess. The Firm has some foreign dignitary who wants to go sight-seeing?"

There was a definite hesitation before Michael answered. "You wouldn't be flying for the Firm. I need a personal pilot, and Hawke tells me he's not available. I have to spend a few days in Texas, beginning tomorrow. I offered Hawke double the going rate. That stands. If you're interested, I'll arrange for a hotel and meals. Rental car, too, if you'd like. I'll be tied up with obligations so you won't see much of me, but I trust you can amuse yourself for a few days." He gave her a look, something that Hawke couldn't quite decipher. "Assuming, of course, that you're not busy this weekend?"

"You can take the 402," Hawke told her, with a nod toward the Cessna. "Dom gets standard rate on the plane, you can keep the rest. Close as you're going to get to a paid vacation." He knew Dom tried to help Caitlin out financially when he could, and wouldn't object.

Caitlin's gaze flickered between them, almost nervously. "Um, yeah, I guess I can do that. You guys are sure you don't need me for that film shoot?"

"It'll be tough, but we'll manage," Hawke teased. "Just finish accounts payable and get them in the mail before you leave."

She turned back toward Michael. "Okay then. I guess we're going to Texas. So, details. Where exactly are you headed, and when do you want to be there?"

"Odessa. You can fly into Midland and I'll drive down from there. I need to arrive by mid afternoon and return late Monday."

"Let me think for a second." She closed her eyes, and Hawke could almost see her doing the math in her head. "If we take off around nine tomorrow morning that should put us in Midland by one. That would be three o'clock Texas time. Will that work for you?"

"That would be fine."

"Meet me here at 8:30?"

"I'll be here. I'll also call and reserve rooms. Would you like a rental car?"

"In Odessa? No." She gave a quick shake of her head. "That's too far from my old stomping grounds. I'll just hang out at the hotel."

"Okay, I guess we're set, then. I'll file a flight plan. See you in the morning."

Hawke watched them go, Caitlin returning to the office and Michael back to his Mercedes. Once they were out of earshot, he scowled, eyes lingering on the office door. "Considering the circumstances, I can understand Michael's attitude, but did Cait seem a little hesitant? I thought she'd jump at the chance to make some extra money."

Dom shrugged. "Probably had a date. Or maybe she just doesn't relish the idea of four hours in a plane alone with Mr. Clean. That should be a barrel of fun."

"Yeah, that could be it." Hawke chuckled. "Then again, the way Cait likes to poke her nose into things? She's going to drive him crazy."

Dom laughed at that. "You know, for once I think I almost feel sorry for the guy."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Michael pulled into a parking spot in front of Santini Air and shut off the car. Climbing out, he popped the trunk to retrieve his suitcase and garment bag. Juggling bag in one hand, suitcase and cane in the other, he walked around the building to enter through the open hanger door.

"Anyone here?" he called out, "Hawke?"

"Hasn't come in yet." Caitlin appeared from behind an antique Stearman. "Dom's out with a student. Said that if he didn't get back before we left to just lock up." She reached for the garment bag. "Let me take that and we'll get everything stowed."

He allowed her to take the bag from him, and followed her outside toward the waiting Cessna. "I'm sorry, Cait. I had planned to hire Hawke. I hope you realize this wasn't my intention."

"I know. It's okay," she said, giving him a small smile over her shoulder. She opened the baggage compartment. "We're both responsible adults, right? We're not a couple of horny teenagers. We can behave ourselves."

Michael bit back a sigh. He didn't want to behave. What he wanted was to strip her naked and bury himself in her. Mentally, he ran through the list of reasons why that was an extremely bad idea. Hawke, Santini and Airwolf were only the beginning of that list. "We're adults," he agreed, even if he wasn't sure he wanted to be one.

"We are." She tucked his suitcase into the nose compartment beside another that was already there. Hers, no doubt. He caught himself wondering if she'd packed the lacy rose-colored underwear she'd been wearing the night he stayed at her apartment. _That_ was a line of thought he didn't need to pursue.

"Dom's not back yet, so I'm going to go lock up. You can wait in the plane if you'd like."

He did as she suggested, sliding into the co-pilot's seat. He watched her through the window as she jogged back to the hanger and closed the doors. A few minutes later, she returned. "Riding up front?"

"If you don't mind?"

"Of course not. It's nice-" She cut off whatever she'd been about to say, a deep blush coloring her cheeks. Turning her attention to the controls, she busied herself with the mechanics of flight. Contacting the tower and getting the plane in the air. Setting their course.

It seemed to Michael that she was taking much longer accomplishing the rudimentary tasks than they usually entailed. At first he thought she was just overly cautious. Finally, he realized that she was stalling, perhaps unsure what to say to him.

Michael wished that he could blame Hawke for this, but it was his own fault. He was the one who had gone to Santini Air looking for a favor. He'd never considered the possibility that the two men might be otherwise occupied and would suggest that he hire Caitlin instead. Once Hawke had made the suggestion, there'd been no graceful way to decline without Hawke asking too many questions.

"So. What's in Odessa?" Caitlin asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"A funeral, unfortunately."

She glanced toward him. "Funeral? One of your agents?"

He had no desire to drag Caitlin into his family drama, but compared to other things they could be discussing, it was a safe topic. "William Shipman. My younger brother. Automobile accident."

"I'm so sorry. I-"

"Don't." He cut her off, shrugging. "To say that we weren't close would be an understatement."

She winced. "Ouch. That bad?"

"William is. . .was. . .a lawyer. Made a living defending the dregs of society. Gang members, mobsters, drug dealers, and the like. Somehow he managed to make his clients look like saints. I always wondered if his involvement with some of those clients might have been more than just legal representation, but I never had evidence of it." Sometimes he thought he should have looked harder, dug deeper. But it was water under the bridge, now. "The family never looked at who he was defending. They always saw him as the good, dutiful son who followed in his father's footsteps."

" _His_ father's?"

"My father was killed in the war a few weeks before I was born. My mother remarried."

"Ah. I take it that you don't get along with your step-father."

"I did, and I didn't." Michael caught Caitlin's look. "He's been gone for nearly thirty years."

"Does your family know what you do?"

"No. My cover is that I'm in the import export business. Over the years it's helped to explain the international travel. Unfortunately, my sister and her husband spend a fair amount of time in Washington and I've run into them a few times in places and situations I wasn't at liberty to explain. They've assumed- well, let's just say they have their own theories about what I do."

She didn't say anything for awhile. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Another one?" he teased.

Her answering snort wasn't particularly lady-like. "Considering your relationship, why are you even going to the funeral? You don't strike me as the type to do something just because it's expected."

"My mother called and asked me to come." He didn't add that no one else had even bothered to inform him of William's death.

Caitlin didn't question that further. She seemed to realize that his relationship with his family was a strained one. Michael wondered at that. Some comments he'd heard exchanged between Cait, Hawke and Santini made him think that her own family dynamics might be equally as complex.

"Single car or multiple?"

"What?" Mind elsewhere, he hadn't quite caught her question.

"Your brother. I was wondering if you knew whether it was a single car accident or involved multiple vehicles?"

"Oh. Single. Out in the country south of Odessa. According to the local sheriff, he was speeding – which doesn't surprise me. Lost control on a curve and went off into a ditch."

Her brow knitted. "You said he was south of Odessa?"

"That's what they tell me."

She fell silent, unnaturally so. He could sense that there was something she was tempted to say. "Cait?"

"Just thinking. I used to patrol that area. Mostly straight roads, and pretty much flat land. There are few places where there's any appreciable drop off."

He could read between the lines, and hear what she wasn't saying. "You're suspicious."

"It's probably nothing, but, well, given what you told me about your brother's involvement with unsavories. . ." She hesitated, frowning. "You said the local sheriff? Didn't the state investigate? They're usually called in on fatals."

"No idea." The call from his mother had been scarce on details. "I should be able to find out more once we get there."

Caitlin's reluctance was obvious, but she finally spoke. "I know you said they called it an accident, but sometimes the local boys don't have the best training, and sometimes-"

 _Sometimes they weren't entirely honest._ While she might think it, he suspected Caitlin would be hesitant to voice it. Michael tended to see her as a skilled pilot and an excellent, if unofficial, operative. It was easy to forget that before she'd first encountered Hawke and Airwolf, she'd been a member of the Highway Patrol. He knew that officers – even former ones – tended to support one another until it was proven that that trust was misplaced.

Loyalties aside, he understood what she was suggesting. "So the accident might not have been an accident."

"Maybe. Or maybe it really was just an accident and he simply wasn't paying enough attention to his driving. It's hard to say without seeing the accident scene and the car. If you want me to look into it. . ."

If it was something more than a simple accident, Michael wasn't sure whether he even wanted to open that can of worms. "I'll think about it."

She nodded at that, and let the subject drop.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Opening the hatch, Caitlin lowered the aircraft's steps. Climbing from the plane, she stepped out onto the tarmac and took the opportunity to stretch, fingertips reaching for the sky above her. Twisting from side to side to work out the kinks, she sighed as her back popped with the movement. She loved flying, but the cramped cockpit of the 402 wasn't particularly comfortable for long flights.

As she waited for the lineman to join them, she let her gaze drift back to the plane, where Michael was standing framed in the doorway. If she was feeling stiff and a little sore, she couldn't imagine what was he was feeling. She caught the pause he took to gingerly stretch his damaged left leg before descending the steps, but she never saw any other indication that he was feeling discomfort. Once, she wouldn't have given it a second thought. Now, she knew damn well that he _was_ in pain, he was just incredibly good at hiding it.

He'd become quieter during the journey as they drew closer to the Midland airport. She wasn't sure he'd actually said anything at all during the last forty minutes of their flight. His expression was guarded now, his shoulders set in a tight, controlled line. This was Archangel, she realized, not Michael. It said something about his family if this was his preferred method of dealing with them.

Caitlin knew she could be a bit much at times. According to Dom, she chattered too much, and maybe she really was as bossy as Michael claimed, but even she could see that this trip was bothering him. Biting her tongue on all the things she wanted to say, she left him alone to his thoughts. He would talk to her when he was ready. _All she had to do was exercise a little patience._

"Howdy, ma'am. Welcome to Midland." The young man's voice and outstretched hand pulled her from her thoughts. She returned the greeting and made arrangements with him to have the Cessna secured and serviced. Opening the nose compartment, she pulled out Michael's suitcase and garment bag along with her own small carryall. As if on cue, he appeared at her side and took his luggage from her.

With a nod of his head, Michael indicated the office. "If you'll take care of the paperwork, I'll see about our rental."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Signing off on the last of the airport paperwork, Caitlin tossed off a cheerful wave to the man behind the desk who had been helping her. Grabbing her suitcase, she headed towards the exit door with the "Ground Transportation" sign hanging above it.

Waiting at the curb she actually heard the car before she spotted it, the muted roar of a powerful engine drawing her attention to the left. Seeing the sleek, black Porsche slow as it approached her, she knew without a doubt that this was the car that Michael had rented. Picking up her bag she waited as the car rolled to a stop in front of her.

It took only a minute for him to get out, unlock the small trunk, and toss her bag in. Then they were moving, Michael switching lanes smoothly as he moved through the outbound airport traffic, shifting through the gears with a small smile on his face.

"It didn't come in white?"

He flashed her a grin, obviously enjoying himself and the feel of the car beneath his hands. "Sadly, no." He swung into the right lane and took the exit for I-20 West. "Odessa's about fifteen minutes from the airport. The clan has gathered at William's place, which is about another twenty to the south of town. I thought we'd stop there first, pay my respects to my sister-in-law and then head back to the hotel. I booked rooms at the MGM Grande. If you're feeling up to it, we can grab some food afterwards."

"I wouldn't mind a good burger."

"How about a steak instead? I know a place, if you don't mind blaring country western music and peanut shells on the floor."

Caitlin laughed. "Hey, don't forget, I'm from these parts. I grew up on country music and peanut shells." From the moment that Hawke had first suggested it, the idea of going off with Michael had made her nervous, but she was starting to feel more at ease. She told herself that what had happened between them before had been only an aberration, a response to stress and nothing more. _If she tried very, very hard, she could almost make herself believe it._

They slowed to turn off the interstate. She caught the momentary grimace as he engaged the clutch, and judging from his sheepish glance in her direction, he knew she'd seen it. "Yes, I know. If I had any sense I would have rented an automatic." His words confirmed her suspicions.

"So why didn't you?"

He grinned. "Open roads and poorly enforced speed limits."

Given the sparse traffic and long stretches of arrow straight highway, she couldn't bring herself to fault him for that. Not to mention, driving the car seemed to have lightened his mood. That didn't mean she could resist a little teasing, though. "Remember that I used to be one of the people enforcing those limits."

That brought a chuckle from him. "Lucky for me the operative term is 'used to be.'"

There was still enough "cop" in her that Caitlin averted her eyes from the speedometer as he pressed down on the accelerator. Instead she watched him; his hands keeping a loose but confident grip on the wheel, his attention fixed on the road ahead.

"We're almost there," Michael announced as they slowed to a more respectable speed and turned onto a long gravel drive. Caitlin looked around curiously. Open fields stretched along both sides of the road. No cattle were evident, but she could see a couple of horses grazing in the distance. One raised its head as they passed, but seemed more curious than alarmed.

The house at the end of the drive was a stately brick manor fronted by heavy columns. Several expensive automobiles were parked around the circular driveway. Michael pulled the 928 into an empty spot between a Mercedes and a BMW and shut off the engine with a sigh.

"Well, I guess it's time to get this over with." Despite his words, Michael didn't move.

Caitlin could sense his reluctance. It hung over him like a dark storm cloud.

He turned his head towards her. "Come in with me, Cait?"

She was no more eager to enter the house than he was, but with a deep breath, Caitlin nodded. She reminded herself that Michael had walked onto a ship loaded with explosives to come to her rescue. _This couldn't possibly be any worse, could it?_

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin fidgeted nervously as Michael rang the bell. She felt out of place here. She might be Texan, but this wasn't _her_ Texas. Her Texas was family and farms and neighbors across the fence, not this vast tract of land with a mansion plopped square in the middle of it.

The door swung open to reveal Bugle Boy denims and a dark shirt topped by a head of longish dirty blond hair. The teen had a portable phone clamped between ear and shoulder. "Can't tonight," he was saying into the phone, "I'm at my uncle's. Yeah, everyone's here. Ma expects – hang on." He wedged one hand over the phone's mouthpiece. "Hey," he said, treating the word as if it was an acceptable greeting. "I think Aunt Elizabeth is in the den." Without waiting for a reply, he turned his back and returned to his phone call as he retreated into the house and left them alone.

Michael glanced toward Caitlin and shrugged, seemingly unsurprised at their reception – or lack of one. "Andrew. My sister's eldest," he said by way of explanation. As she stepped into the hallway, Michael reached around to close the door behind her.

"This way," he said, and she fell in beside him. The house was no less impressive from the inside, formally furnished with uncomfortable looking antiques. The sort of house meant more to show off one's wealth and position than to be lived in. Michael led her through a confusing maze of rooms until they reached what she surmised to be the den. There, they found a tall, dark haired woman leaning into the embrace of an even taller gentleman who appeared to be some years her senior.

The woman pulled away abruptly at the sound of their approach, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue she held. "Michael, you made it. I'm so glad." He lips curved in a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes and she moved closer to give him a perfunctory peck on the cheek. "Michael, I don't believe you've met my husband's partner, Richard Long. Richard, this is Maddy's eldest. William's half-brother, Michael Briggs."

Long was at least fifty, with a full head of silver hair. "It's good to meet you. William spoke of you often."

There was an undercurrent in the words, hidden meanings that left Caitlin in the dark, but Michael only replied with a dry, "Yes, I'm sure he did."

Richard seemed flustered for a minute before awkwardly adding, "Well, I wish this meeting could have been under different circumstances."

Michael agreed with a nod, turning his attention to the woman. "Liz, while William and I may not have been close, I hope you know how sorry I am for your loss."

She sniffled, dabbing her eyes again despite the lack of visible tears. "Thank you." She turned her attention to Caitlin. "So, who is this you've brought with you?" The abruptness of the question bordered on rude and Caitlin wasn't sure how she was supposed to take it.

"Liz, this is Caitlin O'Shannessy, my pilot. Caitlin, let me introduce Elizabeth Shipman, my sister-in-law."

"Ah." Elizabeth made a non-committal sound that Caitlin couldn't quite translate. "Will you be joining us for dinner this evening, Michael?"

He shook his head. "We've just come from the airport. By the time we get our rooms I'm afraid–"

"That's too bad. You'll be missed, then," Elizabeth said, in a tone that suggested he wouldn't be. "You will be at the calling hours tomorrow night?"

"Certainly. In the meantime, if there's anything I can do?"

"Everything is being taken care of." She glanced to the side, toward where the other man stood waiting. "Richard has been wonderful, a steady rock through this whole ordeal. He's handling all of the arrangements."

Michael inclined his head slightly. "In that case, I'll take my leave until tomorrow. Good afternoon, Liz, Richard."

As they left the room, Caitlin glanced behind her. Liz had already turned back to Richard and they had their heads together in conversation. She saw that Michael had noticed it, too, but he didn't remark on it.

She trailed him back through the house, uncertain whether the route they were taking was the same path by which they had entered. He was looking about as if he was looking for something – or someone.

"Michael?" She asked, as they paused in what might have been termed an overgrown foyer.

"My mother is here somewhere. I was hoping to see her without running into. . ." He looked to one side, down an intersecting hallway. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Shit."

The clicking of heels announced the woman long before she stepped into the room. Half a foot shorter than Caitlin, she carried herself with the presence of a much taller woman and had that classic hourglass figure that Caitlin had always envied. Her tailored suit was both expensive and tasteful. Blue eyes and a certain resemblance identified her as one of Michael's family, as did the dark blonde hair that was pulled up at the sides in a way that was both business-like and completely feminine. When the woman's frosty gaze swept over her, Caitlin immediately felt even further out of place than what she'd felt when she entered the house.

"My God, Michael. William isn't even in the ground yet. You couldn't show at least a little respect and manage for once without bringing along one of your whores?"

 _Whores?_ Caitlin bit her tongue, holding tightly to her sudden surge of anger. She glanced at Michael, but he was staring at the woman, his face expressionless.

"Ms. O'Shannessy, may I present my sister, Sara Matthews. Sara, my pilot, Caitlin O'Shannessy."

Caitlin startled at hearing herself addressed so formally, especially after just being called a whore, but Sara never even looked back over at her, her gaze still fixed on Michael.

"Your pilot. Of _course_ she is, Michael."

Complete dismissal in seven words, each of them dripping with sarcasm. If Caitlin hadn't been so furious she'd have been impressed by Sara's cattiness.

"Dinner is at six thirty. Mother has requested that you join us." Her tone indicated that she personally wanted nothing of the sort.

"Sara, we drove straight here from Midland. We still need to check into the hotel. I thought-"

His sister glanced at her watch. "You'll have plenty of time if you don't dawdle. Don't you dare keep us waiting." Spinning on her heel, she headed towards the door, pausing just as she reached the entrance. Turning slightly, her gaze swept over Michael's clothing. "And for God's sake, dress appropriately."

Her heels clicked purposely down the hallway outside. As the sound faded, Michael blew out a breath. "That went well."

Caitlin nearly snorted. "Really? How could you tell?"

He looked at her a bit sheepishly. "Sorry about that. Sara has always been a bit of a bitch, and to make matters worse, she's been angry with me for a very long time." He shook his head. "Well, so much for escaping the family dinner. Let's get the hell out of here." He turned to head back the way they had come in.

Caitlin followed. She cocked her head towards him, lowering her voice. "Michael, what exactly does your family think that you do?"

He waved off the question. "You don't want-"

A voice called from their left, cutting short whatever else he might have said. "Angel! Come here, dear, and give your mother a hug."

 _Angel?_ Caitlin bit her bottom lip and tried hard not to laugh as Michael was enveloped in the arms of the older woman who'd approached them from the doorway.

The woman released him, stepping back to eye him up and down. "How are you, dear? You're looking well, all things considered."

A long-suffering sigh. "I'm fine, Mother." He looked her over. "I see you haven't changed a bit. Still beautiful and not a day older."

"And you're still a charmer." She smiled at him. "So who is your young lady, Angel?" Bright blue eyes inspected her curiously.

Michael's lips stretched in the first genuine smile Caitlin had seen since they'd left the airport. "Mother, this is Caitlin O'Shannessy. She's the pilot I hired to fly me down here."

Caitlin stepped forward, her hand out to the woman. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Shipman." The hand that clasped hers felt fragile with age, the skin soft and thin, but the grasp was firm and full of confidence.

"Call me Maddy, my dear. Short for Madeleine."

Caitlin smiled at the other woman. "Then please, call me Caitlin."

"Mother, about dinner . . . We've come directly from the airport. I haven't had a chance to check into the hotel and I really should be getting Caitlin–"

"Nonsense, Angel. You can make it to your hotel and still be back here for dinner." Maddy turned slightly to include Caitlin. "And I'm sure Caitlin would love to join us for dinner, wouldn't you dear?

Caitlin hesitated, unsure of what she should do.

Her pause was all Maddy needed. "Excellent." Maddy clasped her hands together like some decision had just been made and agreed to by all parties. "Dinner is at six-thirty." She glanced down at a slim silver watch encircling her thin wrist. "You'd better leave now so you can be back in time. Sara will have a conniption if you're late." Maddy held a cheek up to Michael which he dutifully kissed.

As Maddy disappeared into the depths of the house, Michael scrubbed a hand up through his hair before directing her towards the door. "It's probably best we flee while we can," he said, wry tone suggesting that he was only half joking.

He was silent as they left, the crunching of the gravel driveway beneath their feet filling the void as he fell back into his more pensive mood from earlier. Only when the car had been started and they were moving down the winding driveway towards the road did Michael speak. "I'm sorry about that. I had hoped that having to check into the hotel would release me from any further family obligations this evening."

"It's alright. I understand. My own family . . . well, family never does what you expect them to." She fidgeted with the seat belt, giving her hands something to do. "It was nice of your mother to invite me, but I can't join you anyhow."

He shot her a swift glance in surprise.

"I didn't bring any clothes with me," she explained, waving a hand down at her t-shirt and jeans. "I brought jeans and a bathing suit. My plan was to lay by the hotel pool and read trashy romance novels."

"If we can get you something to wear, would you be willing to join me?" There was a wealth of hesitancy buried in the question. She caught his profile, but he was staring straight ahead at the highway, not looking at her.

"I-" She shook her head. "You know this is a bad idea?"

He had the grace to give her a sideways glance. "Not the first I've had. I know I'm asking a lot." He paused. "I'm afraid I'm going to ask for more though, even if I don't have the right."

"More?"

"I've been thinking about what you said, on the trip down. About William's death possibly not being accidental. I'd like to pursue that, even if it's just to ease my own conscience." He glanced at her again. "We can drive out to the scene tomorrow morning, and I'll find out where they took his car. Additionally, I'd like to get a look into William's study. Especially his computer."

She nodded slowly, thinking it through. "What do you need from me?"

He exhaled, his grip on the steering wheel relaxing as he took her words as agreement to help. "I've stayed at this hotel before. There's one of those little clothing boutiques in the lobby. We can get you clothes there. Dinner this evening, of course. Then the visitation tomorrow. I'm not sure about the funeral Sunday morning. At some point I should find a chance to slip into the study. Possibly during visitation, as there will be a lot of people coming in and out of the house."

She nibbled on the edge of her thumbnail as she thought. _At least two_ _changes of clothes. Shoes as well, although she might be able to get by with one single pair of good black heels._ Realizing what she was doing, she pulled her thumb away and looked down at her hands. She kept her nails short, but her hands looked like what she was – a pilot and a part time mechanic who was often up to her elbows in bearing grease. She grimaced. _No time for a manicure._

"I would appreciate your help in this." His voice grew a bit softer. "And your presence."

His words tugged at her heart. _This wasn't Archangel. This was Michael, vulnerable in a way that she doubted few ever saw._ "You had only to ask." Seeking to lighten the mood just a bit, she added, "Angel."

He made a face, but chuckled. "If you ever tell anyone, I'll have you thrown in jail for treason."

"So is that where?"

"Indirectly. My . . . recruiter. . . happened to be there one day when my mother called. Even then I had a propensity for wearing white when I wasn't undercover. Between the two-"

"You became Archangel."

"The leader of heaven's forces in their triumph over the powers of hell." He quirked an eyebrow and gave her a sideways grin. "If only I had the same power over certain relatives."

She laughed with him before they both fell silent. Caitlin watching the countryside roll by as Michael was again lost in his own thoughts. _Patience, she reminded herself._


	5. Chapter 5

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter Five**

 _Co written by Caeria and deb_

Pulling up to the hotel, Michael turned the car over to the valet as they retrieved their respective bags from the trunk. Michael turned his over to a bellhop to be taken inside while she hung onto hers.

"Cait, give your bag to the gentleman. I'll check us in and make sure it's taken up and dropped off in your room." He nodded to a small store tucked into the back of the lobby. "In the meantime, why don't you see what you can find? I'll bring you your key in a minute and you can put the charges directly against the room."

"Michael, you don't have to-"

"Yes, I do. I'm dragging you into something you weren't expecting or prepared for. It's the least I can do."

Not entirely comfortable with the arrangement, Caitlin did acknowledge his logic. Just taking one look at the little store, she knew that any extra money she was earning from this trip would have been eaten up by the cost of her new attire. "Thank you."

The words were simple enough, but Michael smiled like she'd just given him a gift. "You're welcome. I'll bring you the key as soon as I get it and we can meet back down here at five thirty."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

She'd been right. The boutique's clothing had been more expensive than anything Caitlin had ever purchased in her life. The saleswoman, recognizing a perfect mark when she saw one, had been more than gracious, putting together multiple outfits for Caitlin to choose from.

Stepping out of the elevator, she smoothed her hands down the silvery gray silk blouse she was wearing. Coupled with charcoal gray pants and black patent heels, the blouse was dressy, but still casual enough for the family dinner. She was nervous, although she wasn't sure she could say what made her more nervous – dinner with Michael's family, investigating William's death, or knowing that she was going to be in close contact with Michael for the next three days.

Glancing around the lobby she didn't see Michael, so she wandered over to the large display window of the store, idly looking at the clothes displayed. Three other young women, one wearing a sparkly plastic headband that read _Birthday Girl_ , were looking at the displays as well, obviously waiting on the rest of their group.

"Merciful Mary." The words were breathed softly. "Shannon, turn around."

"What?" The woman standing next to Caitlin turned. "Oh, yum. Now _that's_ what I want for my birthday."

Her gaze refocused to look at the reflection in the store window glass, Caitlin immediately spotted what – or more precisely who – had enthralled the three young women. Michael, impeccably dressed in a black suit, had just stepped out of the elevator. Silently, Caitlin agreed with the first woman's assessment. Michael always looked good in his white suits; in Caitlin's opinion, he was one of the few men she'd ever met that could carry that look off. That said, the cut and the deep black of what he wore now emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the long lines of his body in ways that white didn't. _Merciful Mary, indeed._

Turning, she met Michael as he stepped across the lobby, the silver-headed cane clicking against the marble tiled floor. Heat rose up in her as his appreciative gaze swept over her and she had to remind herself that anything more than friendship was a very bad idea.

"You look lovely, Caitlin."

"You're not looking too shabby either." She tilted her head back and gave him an exaggerated once over. "You're looking very James Bond-ish."

"That amateur?" he muttered with a grin, as he placed a hand at the small of her back and directed her towards the doorway and the valet beyond who was just pulling up with the Porsche.

Settling back into the leather seat, Caitlin watched as Michael once again handled the car with expert hands, his touch light but firm on the steering wheel as he moved through the late afternoon traffic before hitting the more wide open interstate. _She was not_ , she told herself firmly, _thinking about those same expert hands doing other things_.

"Everything okay with your room? I neglected to mention it earlier, but our rooms are adjoining. Just let me know if you need anything."

"You _do_ know that isn't a room, right?"

"It's not?"

"It's not a room, it's an apartment. Michael, the bathroom is bigger than my kitchen."

He let out a short laugh. "I do a lot of traveling, Cait, and most of the time I've got Samantha or someone else with me. Even when I'm not in the office, I'm still typically working. I'm accustomed to getting adjoining suites so I can spread out."

"It wasn't really necessary. This is personal, not business, and I'm not one of your aides."

After a brief hesitation, something like resolve crossed his face. "What I said before . . . about you spoiling me . . . I meant it. I've noticed, and I appreciate it. So, it might not be necessary, but spoiling you a little . . . it's something I want to do."

Caitlin couldn't help the blush that heated her cheeks. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome."

They fell into a companionable silence after that until Michael pulled up in front of William's house.

As they walked up the broad steps to the front porch of the house, Michael murmured, "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more."

"Stop that. It won't be that bad."

Not bothering to knock this time, he opened the door and ushered her inside. "Tell me that again when the night's over."

Stepping into the main hallway of the house, Caitlin noticed a blonde head staring down at them between the spindles of the stair banister. Even as she peered upwards to get a better look, their quiet watcher pulled backwards with a jerk.

Closing the door behind them, Michael gestured her into the foyer. "They'll probably be in the back." They wound their way further into the house and then followed the sound of voices to a large open room that Caitlin hadn't seen earlier. French doors that took up almost the entire back wall had been opened to catch the breeze. Five sets of eyes turned in their direction. Caitlin felt decidedly uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but mostly she was starting to feel a slow burn of anger. She had to deal with her own family's disapproval on a lot of things, but that disapproval came in the form of yelling and loud arguments. Beneath all the noise she knew there was love, and while they might be misguided, they really did think they had her best interests in mind. This cold, subversive disdain was alien to her. Just in counter to that alone, Caitlin would have stood with Michael against these people.

She leaned slightly in towards Michael. "Who's who in the rogue's gallery that I haven't met yet?"

Steering her toward the far end of the room away from the others, he nodded towards an extremely good looking man who was talking to Sara. "Sara's husband, Bradley." He nodded to the lanky teenage boy that had originally opened the door to them. "Her son Andrew you met earlier. His sister Caroline is around here somewhere."

Caitlin nodded. She'd bet that Caroline was the blonde head she'd seen peeking through the staircase rails.

Liz and Richard were standing close together, Richard's body almost blocking Liz from view. She noticed Michael watching them intently.

"You're frowning."

He shot her an amused look, but smoothed out his express. "They seem cozy."

There was _something_ in his words that seconded the vibes Caitlin had got from the pair when she first met them. Despite that, she tried to rationalize their behavior. "She's grieving. It's normal to seek comfort from someone you've known for a long time."

"There's . . . " he trailed off.

"You're suspicious."

He quirked a grin at her. "Am I that easy to read?" The grin faded as he shook his head. "I don't know. When we spoke with them earlier, something just seemed . . ." He glanced at her, his expression unreadable, but his eye dark. "When we walked in they had the look of lovers. If I were to take a wild guess, I'd say they were having an affair."

Caitlin paused, thinking through the implications. _If the accident wasn't an accident . . . ._ "Motive."

"Possibly."

Before he could say anything else, Maddy entered the room. "Everyone, please. Dinner is served."

As they all turned to enter into the formal dining room, Caitlin wiped her hands against her pants. Dinner here was nothing like dinner with her large and raucous family. When her Aunt Rose had died, there had been a minimum of ten people in the house at all times, along with dogs and cats and a box turtle that no one would admit to owning. Neighbors had brought casseroles and desserts until the kitchen counters had overflowed and all the while people had congregated in the kitchen, the heart of the house, swapping stories of Rose and remembering both good times and bad.

Michael's family was so different. All this formality was putting her on edge, but it gave her insight into Michael that she doubted few others had. These people, this environment, had helped shape Michael into the contradictory man he was – the ruthless and cold Archangel who would do whatever was required to fulfill his mission versus the loyal and sincere Michael, with his wicked sense of humor and innate understanding of people.

His hand slid to the small of her back, the warmth shocking in contrast to the cool brush of the silk. _Even when it wasn't intentional, he was a distraction to her senses_. "Shall we brave the lion's den?"

She gave him a sly smile before dropping her voice to the lightest of whispers. "God sent Daniel an angel to protect him in the lion's den. Why should I be afraid? I've got an Archangel at my side."

Leaving him silently sputtering over that, she fixed a gracious, if false, smile on her face as she stepped into the room. Maddy was sitting at the head of the table while Andrew and a young girl who could only be Caroline were sitting at the other end. The adults had all taken seats leaving two empty chairs together on the far side of the table, one next to Maddy and the other next to Richard, William's partner. As Michael stepped up behind her to pull out the chair on the right, she made a quick decision, disliking the way the other man was staring at Michael. "Switch with me?"

He gave her a puzzled look, his brows arched, but smoothly switched his hand to the other chair. Caitlin smiled her thanks as he took his own seat then formally introduced her to the remaining family members.

Dishes and plates of food had already been set on the table and for the next few moments, each was passed until everyone had served themselves and began to eat. No grace was said, which didn't surprise Caitlin.

"So, Ms. O'Shannessy , do you travel with Michael often?"

Caitlin blinked in surprise at Sara's husband, Brad. Not so much at his question, but at the knowing undercurrent of innuendo laced through his words. She resisted the urge to look to Michael for direction. "Actually, no. This is the first time I've acted as his pilot or traveled with him."

"Ah."

 _Again with the 'Ah.'_ It was the same noncommittal sound that Liz had given Michael earlier in the day when he'd introduced Caitlin. She was really beginning to wonder just what Michael's family thought their relationship was.

"I ask, you see, because I don't think I've seen you before. My job keeps me in Washington quite a bit. Michael and I sometimes attend the same functions." His gaze roamed over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "You're certainly lovely enough to be one of his usual . . . escorts." His gaze turned to Michael beside her who was calmly buttering a roll as if bored with the conversation. "What is it that you call them, Michael? Oh, yes, your _aides_."

The butter knife paused for a split second before resuming its steady motion as Caitlin forced a smile across the table. "I wouldn't know anything about that. I'm just a pilot."

Sara regarded her coolly. "You seem awfully cozy with my brother for being 'just a pilot.'"

"Caitlin is not just a pilot, Sara, she's an excellent pilot," Michael interjected. "And no, she is not one of my aides."

Sara made a dismissive noise. "Well, of course, not. Otherwise I'm sure she would have been dressed in some ridiculous white outfit earlier."

"Caitlin," Michael continued as if Sara hadn't interrupted, "works for a charter air service that I do business with on occasion. When I needed to hire a pilot for this trip, she graciously agreed." He gave his sister a chill little smile. "Of course, if I'd been told earlier, I could have caught a commercial flight."

Sara and Michael locked eyes for a split second before both turned back to their plates.

"Well," Maddy said, as the tension in the room climbed, "I'm sure that Caitlin is an excellent pilot, but I don't see how you can bear getting on a plane again after what happened. If it were me, I'd never step foot on another one. I could have lost you." Tears momentarily welled up in her eyes before she blinked them back under control. "First, you so badly hurt, and now my dear William is gone."

As an uncomfortable silence fell over the table, Caitlin shifted in her seat. "I understand that William was a lawyer. Perhaps you could tell me more about him?"

"My younger brother was brilliant and loyal, always putting his family first. He was so much like Father," Sara finally said.

Caitlin didn't miss Michael's subtle tensing at the words or Sara's faint sneer in his direction.

"I would have to agree. He was a real humanitarian," Richard added. "The firm has been doing an increasing amount of business over the last several years. Lately, William and I both had our calendars full. In fact, we've been – we were – talking about taking on another lawyer to handle some of the load. And yet, even as busy as we were, William was constantly taking pro bono cases." Richard shook his head. "It seemed he couldn't bear to turn anyone away. No matter who it was, he took them on, and his success rate was exceptional. He was always telling me that he could handle those cases by himself and I didn't have to worry about them."

"William had goals and ambition." There was still a hard and bitter edge to Sara's voice that set Caitlin's teeth to grinding. "He was working with the Governor's re-election campaign as well. He was a credit to this family and to the Shipman name. Father would have been so proud of him."

The table went quiet again except for the soft clinks of silverware against china. From the corner of her eye, Caitlin watched as Michael put down his fork with a steady hand. She couldn't imagine how he could be so calm. She was livid. Her own hands were shaking with rage.

"Caitlin, are you finished?"

She glanced down at her plate. She'd barely touched her dinner, but any appetite she'd had was long gone. Picking up her napkin from her lap, she laid it beside her plate. "Yes, I think I'm through here."

Michael stood and pulled back her chair, allowing her to rise. He leaned over and quickly kissed his mother on her cheek. "We had a long flight down and tomorrow will be another long day. If you'll excuse us, we'll say goodnight."

The trek back out of the house was silent. Caitlin kept her eyes on Michael's back. He was as angry as she was. She could tell from the rigid set of his shoulders and the choppy pace of his steps as they headed for the car. Michael always limped, but even so, unless he was in pain or extremely tired, there was a grace to his movements that was currently lacking.

As she got into the car and Michael started the engine, her own anger bubbled and swelled within her. Most of it was aimed at the people left behind her in the dining room, but some of it directed at Michael himself. She didn't understand his family and she didn't understand why he didn't tell them who and what he really was. She'd wanted to stand up and blast them all with the truth and instead had bit her tongue because she knew it wasn't her place. Worse, to complicate matters even further, she wanted to make it better for him and she couldn't do that either.

 _Damned if she did. Damned if she didn't. Just damn it all._ "Pull the car over."

He must have heard something in her voice because he didn't question, but simply pulled the car over to the side of the long gravel driveway. "Get out." He raised a brow at her but dutifully shut off the ignition and climbed out of the car into the twilight. Cait was out of her seat and around to his side almost before he'd closed the car door.

"Cait-"

"It's not my place," she interrupted. "I know that. They're your family. I don't know the history, I don't know the situation. I don't-" She was breathing hard as the anger coursed through her, even if that anger wasn't really directed at him.

He was watching her warily as she kicked at the road, sending several pieces of gravel skittering before her.

"I've seen you tortured. I've seen you go toe-to-toe with Hawke when he was being an ass." She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "Hell, I've seen _you_ be a monumental ass." Spinning around she stomped across the drive and then back again. "You have at your disposal the ways and means to topple governments. And yet you let those . . . those . . . people," she spat the word like it was a curse, "you let them treat you like something the dog drug in."

"Caitlin." His voice was soft and a little bit bemused, but there was also old hurt and regret in his expression. "It's too late to change the past. I doubt if they'd believe me now anyway."

 _Oh, Michael._ She felt her anger drain away, at least the part of it that was directed towards him. As much as he might pretend otherwise, he did care what they thought, and their dismissal did get to him. Emboldened by the darkness, she stepped forward and hugged him, her arms tightening around his back, offering what little comfort she could. He stiffened in surprise for one brief moment before his arms went around her, his whole body relaxing into her embrace. Resting her forehead against his collarbone, she grumbled into the fabric of his jacket, "Call in The Lady with an airstrike and take out the swimming pool and I bet they'd change their tune."

He broke into laughter, the sound deep and somehow cleansing. Slowly she disentangled herself from him and took a step back.

"Better now?" He was smiling, not that devastating smirk that sent her insides squirming, but a broad, warm smile that brought out her own in answer.

She heaved a half-embarrassed sigh. "Yeah. Sorry. It really is none of my business. It's just that you're a better man than they know and it . . ." She trailed off, not sure how to explain the urge to defend him when he was well able to defend himself if he wanted to.

He was still smiling at her. "My heroine."

She gave an unlady-like snort in response to his teasing, but didn't miss the fact that his own tension and anger had eased as he leaned back against the side of the Porsche.

He gazed off into the dark and she was content to stand there until he was ready to move on.

"So, do you want to tell me what that was back there at dinner?" he finally asked.

"Which part?"

"Switching seats."

She frowned, before moving to his side and leaning back to match his pose. "You'll accuse me of coddling you."

One brow went up in question but he didn't ask. She held out against his silence for all of six seconds before she cracked. "It's silly."

"Silly and coddling. This becomes even more interesting."

"Fine," she huffed. "I didn't like the idea of Richard sitting on your blind side. He was staring at you. I know he's not a threat to you. I know you can take care of yourself. But I still didn't like it."

He pushed away from the car to swing around in front of her. "So you got bossy and took my seat." He was smiling as he said it so she knew he wasn't upset with her.

"Sorry. But at least some good came of that mess."

This time both brows went up.

"Michael, back when I was with the Highway Patrol, I didn't have to deal with lawyers all that often, but I'll tell you one thing, unless it's some popular cause where they can make a name for themselves, wealthy, successful lawyers don't take pro bono cases out of the goodness of their hearts. If William really was taking on all those cases himself and winning the majority of them, then there's something fishy going on. We might need to look at that angle as well."

Michael's smile faded and he dropped his head down to study the tips of his shoes. "Good point. I'll see what I can find out about those cases." Abruptly, he stood up straight. "Come on, it's time to get out of here."

Nodding in agreement, Caitlin headed around to the passenger seat and climbed back in the car.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

The ride back to the hotel had passed in silence, the set of Michael's shoulders discouraging idle chatter. Caitlin wished there was something she could say or something she could do, but she knew that his ire wasn't directed at her. For once, she was thankful for her own family.

Arriving at the MGM Grande, Michael pulled the Porsche to the curb. Turning keys and automobile over to the valet, he followed Caitlin into the lobby.

"You barely ate anything at the house. There's a restaurant here, and they offer room service as well. Either way, just charge it to the room."

"Thanks. I may call down and order something." Dinnerhad spoiled her appetite, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "What about you?"

"Maybe later."

She realized that as they'd talked, he had led her to the elevators. She reached out and pushed the call button. A moment later the door opened and she stepped inside, turning to hold the door. "Coming?"

He shook his head slightly. "Not yet. I need to get some air."

"I guess I'll see you in the morning, then. Meet me in the restaurant for breakfast?"

"I have a couple things I have to tend to first. Can we make it nine o'clock?"

Reluctant as she was to leave him, she knew she couldn't stand there holding the elevator forever. She gave him a nod. "Good night."

Once the doors had closed, it was a short ride to her floor. Entering her room, she toed off the new pair of heels. Standing on one foot, she reached down to rub the other. It wasn't that the shoes pinched, but they would be more comfortable once they'd been properly broken in.

Letting out a sigh, she glanced around the room, briefly considering the television before deciding against it. It was early, but it had been a long flight and a long day. A hot shower would serve to wash away the day's tension. Walking over to the window of the hotel room, Caitlin started to pull the drapes closed. Turquoise light below caught her attention and she realized the pool was directly beneath her room. She gave a wistful thought to her original plans of lying by the water and reading through the two romance novels she'd packed.

Movement near the pool caught her attention, the uneven gait giving away who it was. _Michael_.

She'd promised herself at the airport that she'd let him be, but before she knew it, she'd slipped her shoes back on and was headed out of the room.

She found him sitting on one of the lounge chairs, his back to her when she entered the deserted pool area. The black suit jacket and tie had been removed and he'd rolled up the cuffs of his white shirt. She didn't miss the tumbler of dark amber liquid on the table next to him or the way he was staring into the depths of the pool, his gaze focused on something only he could see. She sat down at the end of the lounge chair. "Michael?"

His gaze swung to her and after a second he gave her a small but genuine smile. "Caitlin."

"I'm surprised there aren't more people out here." The evening was unseasonably warm. "It's nice out tonight."

"You've become acclimated to LA. The locals still see this as winter." Michael shrugged. "They have another pool inside. I think that's where everyone is." He looked toward her again, and the corner of his mouth curved upward. "You forgot your book."

She laughed. "I think I've had enough drama for one night."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you into that mess."

"I didn't mean it that way and you didn't drag. Besides, it was. . . entertaining."

It was his turn to laugh, although there was little humor in it. "Rather like a train wreck that you can't look away from."

Silence stretched between them for several minutes as Michael sipped his drink.

Her curiosity finally getting the best of her, Caitlin returned to the question she had started to ask much earlier, before Maddy had interrupted her. "What does your family think you do and why haven't you ever told them the truth? It's not like your identity is a huge secret. From what I've seen, the entire Soviet Bloc knows who you are."

Michael tilted his head down, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "BecauseI'mabastard."

She wasn't sure she understood. "What?"

He forced out a sigh and raised his head. "Because I'm a bastard. In the beginning, when I was first starting out as an agent, the lies and the evasions were necessary. The import/export cover was a sound one. When I first left field work, I kept the secret, more for my mother's protection than anything. She didn't need to know that the KGB wanted her eldest dead."

"Michael, you haven't been a field agent in a long time."

He gave her a humorless smile. "That's where the bastard part comes in. The Firm's charter was just being developed in those days. They were pulling agents from the CIA, NSA, FBI – hell, the entire alphabet soup. I was good and I knew it. I wanted in on the ground floor and I wanted to move up. I wanted to . . . step out of the shadows and help shape the polices I'd had to live with until then. By the time I was high enough in the organization to come clean with my family, I discovered that Sara and her husband had already started dropping hints that I wasn't what I seemed. Combine that with the less than cordial parting I had with the family and it was easy enough for all of them to think the worst."

"But why? Why would they go to the trouble of tearing down your name like that?"

"Sara's had it in for me for a long time, and I'm sure she's more than willing to think the worst. In any event, I never made the effort to correct what they thought."

"You wanted them to think the worst of you."

He snorted softly. "Trust me, it didn't take much effort. Brad is the head of one of the more powerful lobbyist organizations in DC. As he mentioned at dinner, I occasionally run into them at various events. While not everyone on the Hill knows what I do, I'm treated with a certain . . .call it fear and deference that Brad and Sara have never understood. My access to important and powerful people doesn't make sense to them."

She could see where this was going. "Archangel in all his glory. White limos, white suits and a different beautiful woman trailing along behind him at every function. So, the entire family thinks you are some kind of . . .what?"

"The best I can figure is that they believe I'm associated with the mob and that I provide call girls to those with appropriate wealth, status and position. An unsavory organization that everyone sees but no one acknowledges." He paused and gave her small, somewhat mischievous grin. "Of course, not everyone thinks I'm a high class pimp."

"Maddy?"

"Well, I think Sara has tried to convince her, but actually, no. I meant Caroline." Michael grinned widened. "She thinks I'm a spy."

"You _are_ a spy and Caroline is what . . . twelve?"

"Intelligence agent, thank you very much. And Caroline doesn't just think I'm a spy, she thinks I'm a Russian spy."

She bit back a laugh. "And why does Caroline think you are a Russian spy?"

"The family has a beach house on Hilton Head Island. Caroline was six, maybe seven, so it would have been about six years ago. I had it in my head that I was going to come clean and try to make amends. Having the whole family there was the perfect opportunity. I had to make a phone call – one of my contacts who happens to be Russian. The conversation was harmless and nothing that couldn't be said over an open line. What I didn't realize was that little Caroline liked to play with her dolls under the desk that was in the study. She heard everything. From that point forward, she was convinced." His eyes flashed with humor. "And I might have helped it along."

Her brows rose. "Might have?"

"Oh, the occasional Russian word dropped in conversation. I once planted a Russian newspaper for her to find. A couple years ago, I created a simple substitution code and might have, by complete accident mind you, dropped the piece of paper in front of her where she could pick it up and with a little effort discover I was supposed to meet someone named Alexi at five."

Caitlin was now grinning at him. "You are horrible."

He shrugged, without of shred of remorse. "Possibly."

Caitlin spent a moment digesting that as her grin faded. "You said that you planned to come clean. I take it that that didn't happen."

Michael let out a deep sigh. "No. I don't even remember what it was about, but I got into yet another argument with Sara. I gave some sort of excuse and got out of there before my mother got dragged into it."

"Regardless of what she and the others might believe, it looks to me as if your mother loves you."

"There's that," he agreed. "I should have warned you that she thinks I was injured in a plane crash."

"So I gathered. The rest of the family as well?"

He nodded once. "Although I don't think the rest of them particularly care."

She took that as an opening. "You said you had a less than cordial parting from your family. Is that why Sara seems to hate you?"

He didn't answer immediately and the silence stretched long enough that Caitlin thought he wasn't going to. When he finally spoke she was surprised. "When I graduated high school, my parents gave me a trip through Europe as a present. A last carefree hurrah before my life settled into the plan my family had for me. Georgetown, then law at Harvard before joining the family law firm, marrying a nice girl and begetting half a dozen children."

"Sounds boring."

He gave her a faint smile. "I suppose it would have been. But it was the only dream I'd known. It'd never even occurred to me that I could take, or even want, another path."

"That's not what happened, though. What changed?"

"My best friend Jack and I spent a month planning the Europe trip, mapping out our itinerary, where we'd go and what we'd do. We had everything down to the last detail. Then we got to Spain. There was a terrorist attack. We were just walking down the street. People were everywhere – children, families. Jack was talking about the pretty girls in front of us. When the explosion hit I was lifted off my feet and thrown backwards fifteen feet. The explosion . . . you expect chaos . . . screaming and yelling. You expect noise." He shook his head. "The blast damaged my ear drums and I could hear nothing but silence."

She was afraid to ask. "Jack?"

"He was hit in the side by a piece of debris. Jagged metal, it might have been part of the bomb. I couldn't stop the bleeding. We were both covered in blood and dust and he was talking. Telling me something with the last of his breath – regrets, goodbyes, messages to tell his family, it could have been anything and I'll never know because I couldn't hear a goddamn thing."

Reaching out she placed a hand on his arm, giving it a firm squeeze. "I am so sorry."

He continued as if he didn't hear her. "I don't know how long I knelt there with Jack after I knew he was gone, but one of the girls we'd been talking about stumbled into me in shock and I just stood up. Gathered her up and sent her further down the street away from the scene. I started pulling injured from the rubble, pairing them up with the less injured and moving them. The police showed up at some point, but I still couldn't hear. I ended up giving a written account. Two days later I was put on a plane back to the States.

"Less than a month after that, the man that you know as the Admiral showed up and recruited me. He'd read my report and read the accounts of the survivors I'd helped. He offered me a new path. I still went off to Georgetown like I'd always planned, but I had extra classes and training. I took vacations in unexpected places. By the time I graduated, I was already an experienced field agent."

"You didn't go on to law school."

"No. My step-father was furious. I was throwing away everything he'd wanted for me and everything he thought I wanted for myself and I couldn't tell him why. We argued frequently and virulently." His expression was distant, as he looked back on the past. "Three days after our final argument, he died of a massive heart attack."

"Sara blamed you for his death."

"Sara was a young girl at the time. She idolized her father. Of the three of us, she was most like him. She never forgave me."

She suspected that Sara might not be the only one who blamed him. "It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

He glanced toward her before shifting his gaze back toward the still surface of the pool. "He smoked four packs a day. Logic tells me that had more to do with his death than I did. I'd like to believe so, at any rate."

Michael fell silent again. Several minutes had passed when he reached over and covered her hand with his."I need you to go inside now, Cait."

"I don't mind sitting here with you."

"You misunderstand." His fingers stroked her hand lightly before releasing it. "It's not that I don't want your company. But if you stay, I'm going to kiss you. Then I'm going to take you up to my room and do a hell of a lot more than that."

The thought sent a shudder through her. "I wouldn't object."

He smiled at that, a sad little smile tinged with loneliness and regret. "I know. But down that road are ramifications for both of us. Ones that go beyond Hawke and Santini."

She agreed with a single wistful nod and rose from where she'd been sitting beside him. "See you in the morning?"

"In the morning," he echoed.

Caitlin took the elevator back to her room. There, she found herself drawn back to the window.

He was still sitting quietly by the pool, nursing his drink.

Caitlin stood there for several minutes, simply watching him. Finally, she drew the drapes, turned, and started stripping off her clothes. She planned to shower then put on her nightgown. _She wasn't at all sure that she was going to sleep._


	6. Chapter 6

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter Six**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

Five minutes before nine, Caitlin stepped through the doorway leading into the hotel restaurant. Her gaze raked the room searching for Michael. It took her a moment to find him, tucked into a corner booth and wearing a pale blue chambray shirt so uncharacteristic that she had to look twice to be sure her eyes weren't deceiving her.

Instead of joining him immediately, she stopped at the buffet. Scanning the offerings she noticed sausage gravy. Loading her plate with biscuits, she ladled gravy over the top. It was an unaccustomed treat that was nearly impossible to find in California. Balancing the plate and a cup of coffee, she crossed to the table where Michael was seated.

"Good morning," she said, setting the dishes down and sliding into the other side of the booth.

He looked up from the folder of papers he was studying. "Good morning." He took a sip of his coffee and closed the file. "Cait, about last night. I-"

"Don't you dare apologize. You did nothing that you need to apologize for."

That brought a wry smile. "It's not what I did. It's what I wanted to do."

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "If we're both going to start saying that we're sorry for everything we _want_ to do, then we're both going to end up hoarse."

He laughed at that. "Alright. No more apologies for impure thoughts." He pushed away his plate. "Where do you want to start? The police report, autopsy, accident scene or car?"

"You've got a copy of the autopsy?" She wondered just how many strings he had pulled to get that.

"I made some calls yesterday afternoon while you were shopping. The reports were hand delivered about an hour ago." Michael pushed the folder across the table towards her.

She held up a hand, waving the papers away. "No, Michael. Not while I'm eating."

There was that damned smirk again. "Lightweight."

Caitlin indicated her plate. "Hey, I can't get this back in LA. I want to enjoy it." She paused, considering. "So where did your brother go off the road," she asked, hoping to steer the discussion away from the autopsy.

"About half an hour south of the house." He unfolded something which she was relieved to find was only a map. "Here." One long finger indicated a penned circle.

She examined the map. "Looks like a pretty desolate area."

"It is. The car wasn't found until mid-morning the next day."

"So what time did this happen?"

"They think. . . ." Michael started to answer, then pulled a sheet of paper from the file and handed it to her instead. "Police report. I'll let you read it for yourself."

Caitlin took the paper from him and frowned. "Was this all you could get?"

He scowled. "That's all there is."

A single sheet of paper from the local sheriff's office. A sheet that at first glance seemed to consist of mostly blank space. She scanned what there was of the report as she finished her meal. Finally, she dropped the paper onto the tabletop and shook her head in disgust. "My five year old nephew could have done a better job."

"Investigating or filling out the paperwork?"

She snorted. "Both. No photos, no measurements, only the barest description of the scene. I don't know if they didn't call in the Highway Patrol because they were hiding something about the accident, or if they were just hiding their own incompetence."

Michael gave a nod of agreement. "I wanted your opinion, but. . ."

"But this stinks to high heaven," she finished for him.

"Is there anything in there that stands out to you?"

Retrieving the report and scanning it again, she considered it. The sheriff's best guess was that the accident had happened around seven or eight o'clock. William had left his office at five thirty, and Liz had called the police just after ten to report that he was long overdue. Caitlin looked up, frowning. "Where's your brother's office located?"

"Downtown Odessa."

"According to this, he was headed south. That means he wasn't going home. Could he have had an appointment with a client?"

"If he did, there was no record of it on his calendar."

Caitlin snorted, jabbing at the report. "Does Deputy... Jameson? Jackson? I can't even read the signature. Anyhow, does the Deputy strike you as someone who'd bother to check?"

"No." He hesitated. "After you went up to your room last night, I paid a visit to the law offices of Long and Shipman."

She did some quick calculations of the time that she left him. "They were open that late?"

That damned smirk was back. "Not exactly."

 _Oh._ She was well aware that Michael had spent years as a field agent, but even so, she had a hard time equating the refined, dapper agent with his slinking around in the night, essentially breaking and entering. She pushed aside her reservations. "Did you find anything else?"

"Nothing definitive. I will say that his paid caseload doesn't appear sufficient to support his lifestyle. Of course, it's possible that he's been living on credit, or Liz might have some sort of family inheritance."

Caitlin mulled that over. "I wonder if she knows where he was headed?"

"I called the house and talked to her this morning. She claims she doesn't know where William was going."

Given the frosty reception they'd received from Michael's sister-in-law, Caitlin could just imagine that conversation. "If Liz actually is having an affair."

"It's possible that he was, too," Michael agreed. "He could have been on his way to see a girlfriend. Another thought, if you keep heading south. . . "

"Another hour or so will put you in Mexico," she said, looking at the map. Caitlin finished the last of her coffee. "Why don't we head out to the scene? I can read the rest while you drive."

He nodded. "If you'll bring the papers, I'll take care of this." He slid out of the booth to head toward the register.

Caitlin looked up from her reading to watch him. The blue shirt had been unexpected, but it was nowhere near as surprising as the denim jeans that were revealed when he stood up.

He caught her staring. "I take it you haven't had the lesson yet about blending into your surroundings?" he asked, grinning.

She found herself blushing, not from his teasing, but instead from her own observation of just how good he looked in those clothes. Forcing herself to look away, she gathered up the papers. "Come on, let's go."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

As the terrain around them changed away from flat, open vista to something more rugged, Michael slowed the Porsche. "If the location in that report is accurate."

 _If it was accurate, they had to be close._ There was a small rise on the right hand side of the road, a slight drop off on the left. Caitlin wasn't sure she'd call it a ditch, but the sheriff's choice of words was the least of her misgivings with the paperwork she'd been studying.

She kept a sharp watch on the edge of the road as Michael drove, finally pointing toward a spot of disturbed earth and brush on the apex of a curve. "There."

Michael stopped on the far side of the curve, pulling the car off the road onto the right shoulder. He shut the ignition off and they both got out. Caitlin led as they walked back to the scene of the accident.

"You have more experience with this sort of thing than I do. The injuries described-" His gesture indicated the scene. "Does this seem consistent to you?"

She glanced back at Michael then returned her gaze to the embankment before her. There was perhaps an eight foot drop off, but it wasn't particularly steep, the bank angling downwards. The autopsy report had stated that there were massive head injuries. William hadn't been wearing a seat belt and had hit the windshield, but still, it didn't match with accidents she had seen in the past. "Maybe," she hedged. "If he was going fast enough, I suppose it's possible."

Caitlin stepped away from the drop off and looked back up the road. "Michael, what do you see?"

"Excuse me?"

"More precisely, what don't you see?"

It was a moment before he answered. "Skid marks. If William lost control, he would have jammed on the brakes and there would be skid marks."

She allowed herself a small smile, pleased that he had figured it out so quickly. "Precisely. If you ever get tired of the Firm, maybe we can get you a job with the Highway Patrol." The smile turned to a frown. "They weren't washed away, either." Given the dried state of the surrounding scrub, there hadn't been appreciable rain in weeks. "I guess that explains why there was no mention of marks in the report. Unfortunately, it raises a lot of other questions."

"Could he have fallen asleep?"

"If they were right about the time of the accident, it seems unlikely. The tox screen didn't show drugs or alcohol in his blood." As she considered possibilities, it occurred to her that the accident would have happened at just about sunset, and she wondered if William might have been blinded by glare. A quick glance told her the sunset would have been well off to the side, hidden behind the hill to the west. _So much for that theory._

She wanted to get a better feel for the scene. "Michael, wait here for a minute."

"Cait?"

"I just want to look around a little. I'll be right back." Caitlin jogged across the road and started up the slope. It wasn't a hard climb and she soon found herself atop the rise, perhaps twenty feet above the roadway. She moved to where she could see the road.

She was surprised by the view afforded by the slight elevation. Had there been a car approaching on the road, she would have seen it long before it reached the curve.

From above, both the crash and the resulting fatality seemed even less likely. The curve wasn't that sharp; even at an excessive rate of speed, it should have been easily navigable. Fixing the image in her mind, she turned to start back down the slope. She glanced down to check her footing, and something white caught her eye. Curious, she paused to see what it was.

A cigarette butt, burned all the way down to the filter. It seemed out of place in its surroundings, much too far from the road to have been flicked away by a passing motorist. A quick scan of the area found half a dozen more in the same condition, all the same brand and all within a couple feet of the first. _Huh._ Someone had been there recently, and had lingered for a considerable amount of time.

"Michael?" Caitlin raised her voice, calling down where he waited below. "Michael, find me something that I can use to contain some possible evidence. A plastic baggie, something like that."

"Hang on." His words came to her, followed a few minutes later by Michael himself. "You found something?"

"I'm not sure. It might be totally unrelated." She led him to where she'd found the butts on the ground. "What do you make of those?"

Instead of answering, Michael looked out over the road below in much the same way she had. She could see him analyzing the scene. She might have been a cop, but Michael had his own training in ambushes and assassinations. Abruptly, he crouched and held up his cane straight in front of him, sighting down its length as if though a sniper's scope. "Michael?"

Instead of answering, he lowered the cane and turned to his right, seemingly searching the ground for something. "Ah. There you are," he said, speaking more to himself than to her. He sprang to his feet with more speed and grace than she would have thought possible, given his bad leg. Handing her the envelope he'd been holding, he reached into his shirt pocket and took out a pen. Bending over, he pushed aside some dried grasses, and Caitlin finally could see what he'd spotted.

It was the shell casing from a rifle round. Sliding the tip of his pen into the opening, Michael carefully picked the casing up without touching it and deposited it into the envelope Caitlin held open for him, then returned the pen to his pocket. "How did you know?" she asked.

He glanced back toward the cigarette butts. "Someone was here waiting for quite some time. They had a perfect spot, and it explains the lack of skid marks."

"Do you think they shot out a tire?"

Michael gave her an infinitesimal shake of his head. "No. Even if the tire blew, there would be skid marks." He hesitated for just a moment before continuing. "I don't think those 'massive head injuries' were from the crash. I think they shot my brother. The shooter wasn't a pro either. A professional would have policed the site and left nothing behind." He blew out a long sigh. "Let's collect those butts and make sure there's nothing else, then get the hell out of here. I want to see that car."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

As Michael started the car, Caitlin flipped through the papers in the folder again. "I don't even want to know how you got all this, especially over night."

Knowing that she was trying to distract him from thinking about what they'd found, he gave her a faint smile before turning the car around to head back the way they had come. "Brother of the deceased."

"Bull. You're not next of kin, his wife is. Not to mention that you have to submit a request in writing and it usually takes weeks."

"Blatant abuse of authority?"

She let out an amused huff of breath. "Now that, I believe." She tapped a finger against the paper she was holding. "William's car was taken to the police impound lot on Fourteenth Street. Number one eighteen."

Michael nodded at the information and headed north towards Odessa.

The drive was mostly silent. Michael was grateful for the empty roads that allowed his mind to drift, giving him time to consider the evidence they'd found. He glanced over occasionally at Caitlin, who was re-reading the documents, looking for anything she might have missed. So focused on her reading, she started when he quietly announced that they were there.

Reaching out, she stopped him before he could climb out of the car. "Will you let me handle this?"

At his quizzical expression, she added, "Procedurally, no one is supposed to get access to potential evidence, not even family members. You are used to demanding answers" – she held up the folder of information as an example – "and getting them."

He understood what she was saying. "But these are the local good-old-boys and if I go in throwing my weight around when they don't know me, I'll get nowhere. "

She smiled. "Exactly. Especially when they may be covering something up. Will you let me –"

"Cait," he interrupted her. "I prefer female agents for a dozen different reasons, not least of which is their ability to get a job done with minimal fuss and drama."

She grinned. "Thanks. Give me fifteen minutes."

Michael passed the time flipping through the folder. Just as he was about to lock it up in the glove compartment, an obviously angry Caitlin exited the impound lot's office and headed straight for the Porsche.

As she got in, she handed him a single piece of paper. "Additional notes from the forensics done on the car after it was towed to the lot."

Michael glanced at the paper, frowned at several blank fill-in sections. He glanced down at what should have been the printed name and signature of the investigating officer, but found only a messy, unidentifiable scrawl.

"That," Cait said, stabbing a finger in the direction of the form, "was apparently filled out by the same deputy who filled out the accident report."

Michael's frown deepened. "Can we see the car?"

Caitlin swept her hand through her hair in an agitated gesture. "There _is_ no car. William's car inexplicably got its paperwork mixed up with that of another car that was scheduled to be junked. Two days ago it was sent to the junkyard where it was crushed into a four by four foot cube of metal."

"The accident wasn't that severe. Fatal or not, there would have been salvageable parts. No one crushes a year old Mercedes."

"They did this time."

Michael felt a hot, slow burn begin to build beneath his breastbone. "Someone's covering their tracks."

Caitlin nodded. "And they've got deep pockets with which to do it." She hesitated, and he could see her indecision.

"Cait?"

"This isn't about an affair, or a marriage gone bad. I think we should call in the Texas Rangers."

He blew out a long breath. "And tell them what? We've got no actual evidence of anything but incompetence."

"What about the shell casings?" she asked, referring to the one he had initially found, and the second that she'd located a couple feet away. "The cigarette butts?"

"Coincidence. Someone out hunting jackrabbits. At this point we have no proof, Cait, and calling in the Rangers will just alert whoever is behind this to our suspicions."

"So now what?"

Michael restarted the car and turned the car towards their hotel. "I'm going to call in some favors and have those casings run for prints. Unfortunately, it will take several weeks to get any results back. Meanwhile, we still have William's study to go through. We'll go back to the hotel and get changed and head to the house for calling hours. I should be able to find time to do a bit of snooping."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

The ride back to the house was subdued. Michael had an edge of taut frustration mixed with anger to him that she recognized from various Airwolf missions. Deciding it was best to leave him to his thoughts, she spent the time reading back through what little information they had. For William's sake, and Michael's, she wanted to make sure that nothing important in the files had been missed.

Michael's quiet, "We're here" pulled her from her reading.

Letting the hotel valet open her door, Caitlin made sure that all the folders and paperwork were gathered up before she climbed out of the Porsche.

"Here, I'll take those," Michael said as he came around the car. "We've got about an hour to change before we need to head out to the house for visitation." As they headed into the hotel, he added, "I wish I could leave you out of it, but I'm going to need your help as a lookout once I get into William's office. And possibly as a distraction."

She paused outside of the hotel's elevator bank. "From your family or the guests?"

She saw some of the tension from earlier drain away from him, as he quirked a small grin. "Either. Both. I've met some of the people that will be there before. Others I'm sure will have heard stories about me."

The elevator _dinged_ as the doors opened. "Ah. I think I can handle that."

"I don't doubt for a moment that you can."

Now, four hours later, Caitlin leaned against a wall and tried to look inconspicuous. She'd been lurking in the hallway outside William's office for about ten minutes. Several of the guests had eyed her curiously but she'd pointed to the small hallway bathroom and made a comment about waiting in line. So far, everyone had taken that as the truth and moved along. Thankfully, no one had tried the closed door as there was no one actually in the bathroom.

She resisted glancing down at her watch again. Michael would be quick as possible but Caitlin knew searching someone's office for something was never easy, especially if you weren't even sure what you were looking for. She just hoped that William's office was neater than Dom's paper-strewn mess or Michael was likely to be in there for hours.

"Chto ty delayesh'?"

Caitlin jumped slightly at the foreign sounding words and turned to find Caroline watching her with narrowed eyes.

Caitlin mentally cursed Michael and his sense of humor. "Hello, Caroline. I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, 'what are you doing?'"

Plastering on her most disarming smile, Caitlin pointed at the bathroom door. "Just waiting. Your Uncle Michael should be out in a minute."

Caroline nodded but Cait got the distinct impression that Caroline didn't believe her as Caroline wasn't leaving.

"You don't speak Russian?" the girl asked.

"I'm afraid not. Just English and some rusty Spanish."

"Uncle Michael speaks Russian."

Caitlin nodded and cursed Michael again. "He does. Several other languages as well, I believe. Are you studying Russian in school?"

"Not in school. I asked Mother for private lessons. When I get older I'm going to be a spy."

"Intelligence agent." Cait winced as the words came out of her mouth automatically. It had become such a running joke between her and Michael that it just slipped out. Unfortunately, now Caroline was definitely interested and it didn't look like she was going to move along anytime soon.

Crossing her fingers that Michael wouldn't kill her later, Caitlin shifted her stance so she could look down both ends of the hallway. Then, with over-exaggerated casualness, she leaned back against the wall.

"Speaking another language isn't enough, you know. Intelligence agents have to have a lot of skills."

"Uncle Michael said last night at dinner that you were a pilot."

Caitlin nodded. "I can fly pretty much anything – airplanes and helicopters. It's a useful skill to have."

"Can Uncle Michael fly?"

She was about to automatically say no, but paused as she considered the question. "As far as I know, Michael's never taken formal lessons and doesn't have a pilot's license." She sent Caroline a grin. "But, Michael does get flown around a lot. I wouldn't put it past him to have done a little flying."

Caitlin shifted and gave Caroline a pointed look. "Caroline, regarding your uncle, just remember, things aren't always what they seem. What you think you see is just what someone else wants you to believe. Sometimes up is down, black is white, and the person you think is the bad guy is really the good guy. Just as a for instance, if you're not fluent in the language of your enemy, then you'll never know what he's talking about. Spies are notorious sneaky like that."

Caroline was looking thoughtful and Cait really hoped the younger girl understood what she was trying to say. She really wanted at least one person in this family to think well of Michael.

"Caroline? Caroline? Where are you?"

The call came from deeper in the house. Without another word, Caroline spun around and darted away while Caitlin let out a sigh of relief. If that conversation had lasted much longer, she would have had a hard time explaining why Michael was taking so long in the bathroom.

 _And speak of the devil_. She turned as a soft tapping noise came from the door, the signal that Michael was on the other side. Giving a swift glance up and down the corridor to make sure it was still clear, she opened the door to the study. Michael slipped through, rejoining her as thoughts of Caroline disappeared. "Did you-" she began, her words breaking off as she saw the look on his face. _Drained. Haunted. Almost as if he'd seen a ghost._ "Michael?"

"Outside." One hand on her elbow, he led her out through the nearest door and around the back of the house, circling to where the Porsche was parked.

Reaching it, he propped his cane against the side, then planted both hands on the roof above the driver's door and leaned forward, head bowed, his eyes closed. He was breathing hard, visibly trying to compose himself, but she wasn't sure whether it was grief or anger that was riding him at the moment.

Unsure what to do, Caitlin let one hand rest lightly on his back. She felt, as much as heard, his breathing slowly come under control.

"I don't think there's any question," he said softly. "William was murdered."

"I'm sorry." She hadn't wanted to be right, not about this. Even so, she wasn't surprised. The evidence had all pointed toward that conclusion.

"William was involved with a Mexican drug ring. Defending henchmen, recruiting dealers, laundering money. Those supposedly pro bono cases were actually being financed by the ringleaders, a free legal defense for the local lowlifes in exchange for them joining the organization. It's a safe bet they killed him."

"He got greedy?"

Never changing his posture, Michael gave his head a quick shake. "He found out that it was more than drugs they were running across the border. Human trafficking going both in and out of Mexico. Young women destined to become sex slaves. Once he found out. . . William wasn't willing to be a part of that."

Michael finally turned his head and looked at her. The pain she saw etched into his face had nothing to do with his leg. She was humbled that Michael trusted her enough to see that pain as she was reminded of their conversation where Michael had admitted that he didn't typically allow anyone to see him out of control.

"William knew I had connections in Washington, and thanks to Sara, he assumed my hands were as dirty as his. He thought I knew the right people. That I could get him immunity if he testified. He tried to – I found a letter he'd addressed to me on his computer along with files he'd been pulling together – names, dates, financials. He never had the chance to send it. They must have become suspicious, because he was called to a meeting, a small town just south of the scene. They knew just when he'd be passing through there."

Caitlin had held no doubts that Michael still cared about his family regardless of the way they treated him, and his reaction only confirmed that. She wished she knew how to comfort him, what to do or say to make it better.

Ultimately, she chose to say nothing, simply resting her hand on his back, fingers lightly, almost unconsciously stroking the fabric of his jacket. Long minutes passed.

Finally, Michael retrieved his cane. He circled the car, unlocking the passenger side and leaning in to stash something in the glove box. Finished, he relocked the car. When he looked up at her, his expression was tightly controlled and appeared devoid of any turmoil. "We're going to be missed. We need to go back in."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

The remainder of the visitation stretched on past its allotted hours, a blur of strangers offering condolences intertwined with tales lauding William's accomplishments. Michael gave the appropriate responses, mostly for his mother's benefit. Sometimes he would catch one of the others watching him, mostly Sara or her husband, occasionally Richard.

Caitlin stayed close, usually positioning herself on his left side. She did an admirable job of deflecting the more persistent guests that circled through the house and around him. He knew why she was doing it. _Silly and coddling_. It was one bit of coddling he didn't really mind. One of the more difficult consequences of losing his sight was when someone would approach from that side and stand there unseen awaiting his acknowledgment. It was embarrassing, and under the wrong circumstances, potentially dangerous. Having Caitlin there instead was comforting in a way that had very little to do with the hum of attraction that still flowed between them; comforting in a way he purposely didn't want to look at too closely.

Finally, the house emptied until it was only family and close friends that remained. He searched out his mother. When he found her, he bade her good night and promised he'd see her at the private, family-only funeral that was to be held in the morning.

It was with a sense of overwhelming relief that he opened the front door and followed Caitlin out into the night air. Unlike the prior evening, it was seasonably cool, and he saw Cait shiver. As they walked toward the car, he slipped his suit jacket off and draped it around her shoulders.

"You don't have to-" she began as she gave him a quick look over her shoulder.

"I know." He knew his own dark mood had settled over her as well, and he tried to lift it. "Someone once told me that I wear too many clothes. No reason not to share."

She sputtered at that, her laughter a welcome sound to his ears. "Don't expect me to wear the tie."

He could think of a few options for his tie that didn't _technically_ involve her wearing it. He nearly said as much, but bit his lip instead. There was teasing and flirtation, and there was downright proposition. What he'd been about to suggest fell solidly into the latter category.

Michael opened the door of the Porsche for her, then went around to the other side of the car and dropped heavily into the driver's seat. He was tired in a way that had nothing to do with a lack of sleep, and his leg was reminding him that standing around at the house and the car's stiff clutch were a bad combination.

"If you'd like, I'll drive."

He was damn glad that Cait didn't work for the Soviets. She could read him too easily. Of course, she was one of the very few who had actually seen the scars, but even so she seemed to have developed quite the sixth sense in regards to him. Not even Marella had been able to see past his false fronts and deceptions that easily. "Thanks, but I've got it." He needed to drive, he needed the sense of control that came with handling the sports car. Turning the key brought the engine roaring to life.

They hadn't eaten. He had planned to take Caitlin out for a late dinner, but now found he could summon little enthusiasm for the idea. "Cait, do you mind if we just pick up takeout and take it back to the hotel?"

"That's fine."

"Chinese?" He remembered seeing a place.

"Sounds good."

As they headed back toward Odessa, Caitlin was quiet. He knew she had to be curious, but she was giving him his space, letting him have the time he needed to decompress from dealing with his family and to digest what he had found in his brother's study.

It would have been a much different trip if either Hawke or Santini had been available. He suddenly realized how grateful he was that they were not. His initial apprehension regarding Caitlin accompanying him had turned out to be more than unfounded. It wasn't just that she had realized the "accident" was anything but an accident. She was good company, and a rock that he was coming to find that he could lean on. "Thank you."

She eyed him with surprise and perhaps a bit of amusement. "For what?"

"Everything you've done. Helping me. Being here."

"You don't need to thank me for that."

"Nevertheless."

"You're welcome," she said, with a warm smile. "Oh, you can also thank me for rehabilitating your reputation."

Michael frowned. "Sara?"

Caitlin let out a sound of amusement. "Not Sara. Caroline. She was doing some snooping of her own while you were in William's office. I dropped some hints that I think she understood. You will be pleased to know that you are no longer a Russian spy but instead, one of ours. She's also interested in going into the business when she gets older. Seems she's been taking Russian lessons. You might want to watch what you say in front of her."

Michael chuckled softly. "I wouldn't wish this business on anyone, but thank you for making me one of the good guys, at least."

They drove on in silence after that until they were perhaps a mile from the hotel. "This place okay with you?" he asked, gesturing to the Chinese restaurant they were approaching.

"Fine."

He pulled in and parked. "Do you mind going in and getting something?"

She turned in her seat and looked him over. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just. . . " He wasn't even sure how to finish it. _Spent. Hurting._ He just couldn't bring himself to enter the brightly lit eatery with the happy, laughing patrons he could see through the window.

Caitlin nodded, understanding even though he couldn't find the words. "What would you like?"

"Anything." He saw that she wasn't about to take that as an answer. "Chicken. General Tso's? Sweet and sour? Something along those lines." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and started to hand it to her.

"Don't be ridiculous. You just bought me a new wardrobe. And shoes."

His lips quirked upwards. "Shoes are the tipping point?"

She shook her head at him in mock despair. "Michael. Michael. Michael. Shoes are always the tipping point." Then with a quick smile, she slipped from the car, leaving his jacket folded over the back of her seat.

Alone, Michael briefly considered opening the glove box and retrieving the materials he had taken from his brother's study. There wasn't much sense in it. He had read over the papers twice as they came off the printer, and the disks were useless without a computer to access them. Instead, he stretched out his leg as far as he could, and leaned back in the seat to wait.

The opening of the passenger door roused him. Caitlin climbed in, placing a large bag between her feet. Reflected light danced in her eyes. "Nice nap?"

"I might have dozed," he admitted. Starting the car, he gestured toward the bag. "Did you buy them out?"

"My suite, at least, has a fridge and a microwave. I figured we could do leftovers tomorrow. With the funeral, I'm not sure how much time we'll have."

"Good idea." Michael pulled into the parking lot of the hotel. It was too late for valet parking, so he simply found a spot as close as possible to the door.

"I'll bring this," Caitlin hefted the bag of food.

Michael nodded. He circled the car and retrieved his jacket and the papers and disks from the glove box. They rode up the elevator in silence, and when he opened the door to his suite she followed him inside. Caitlin sat down on the sofa and began to spread out containers of food on the coffee table. While she did that, he opened a bottle of wine from the mini bar. Pouring two glasses, he joined her.

He raised his wine glass. "To family. Preferably someone else's."

She laughed and clinked glasses with him. "I could loan you mine."

"They can't be as bad."

"They're not. Oh, they're overbearing and opinionated and invariably think they know best, but in the end, you know there's love there and they've got your back. Your family - well, it's hard to believe you and Maddy are related to any of them."

Reaching for an egg roll, he chuckled. "They may all be adopted."

"Not likely. There's too much family resemblance."

"True." He started checking containers. "What did you get?"

"Tso's, sweet and sour chicken, beef and broccoli, boneless ribs, pork fried rice." She handed him a plate. "Take whatever you'd like."

"We've got enough here to feed an army." He dished out a plateful of food and began picking at it. Despite not being particularly hungry, it did taste good.

Michael had left the materials he'd taken from his brother's study on the end table, and now he reached for the papers, handing them to Caitlin without comment. Putting down her fork, she scanned through the documents.

"He got in over his head, didn't he?" she finally asked, setting the papers aside.

"Far further than he ever knew." Michael paused to refill his wine glass. "I don't believe he had any inkling just what he was really involved in until he started digging around. Whatever else he was, William was a good lawyer. He put this together the same way he would have assembled a case."

He leaned over Caitlin, tapping a finger against one the papers in the file. "William started documenting meetings – his contacts, dates, and names. My guess is that he realized that he was very low level in the organization. His job was just to keep the drug money flowing freely, to make sure that the drug runners stayed out of jail and to funnel money to other accounts within the network."

"Someone realized he'd started asking questions that he shouldn't have been."

"Exactly. But like I said, he was good at following the paper trail. The financial notes on those-" he indicated the disks he had taken "-indicate that the money he was laundering was eventually being fed into Nelson's reelection campaign."

Cait looked up sharply from her dinner. "Governor Nelson? Aren't there rumors that he might run for the Presidency in '88?"

He nodded, sighing. There was a part of him that almost wished Caitlin had never questioned his brother's death. "It's an incomplete picture though. I'm fairly certain that Nelson isn't the top of the food chain. Someone else is pulling the strings. William had no clue who that was."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Can't the Committee-"

He downed the remainder of his wine. "Not this time."

"Michael, you don't owe your brother-"

He cut her off. "It's not that. I have no real desire to drag William's name through the mud, but that's not my concern. Cait, what worries me is that Zeus is a close personal friend of Governor Nelson, and has been for years. It's possible the Governor had no idea what was going on, but if he knew about those funds. . . " He left the statement hanging.

Cait's voice dropped to a whisper. "Shit."

"Precisely. Zeus is," he paused, choosing his words, "territorial and watchful, especially of me. And while I don't want to believe that he is involved or that his silence has been bought, if I use the Firm's resources or go to the committee, Zeus will be notified."

"Assuming he's not involved, might Zeus try to use William's dealings against you?"

He brushed a finger back and forth against his mustache thoughtfully. He hadn't considered that, and the fact that Cait had was an indication of how quickly she was picking up the intricacies of Firm politics. "Possibly. Although it's a risky move especially considering his own friendship with the Senator." He glanced back down at the folder. "There's still a lot of data I need to go through. And . . ."

"And?"

He shrugged. "A feeling. A hunch. Something niggling in the back of my head. There is something that I've seen or read that I'm not recognizing. It will come to me eventually though."

Caitlin started resealing the boxes of food. "If you're done, I'm going to put this away."

He started to lean forward. "Let me help you."

"No. Stay right there. I've got it."

That brought a smile to his lips. "Still bossy, I see."

"Always." She rose and began stowing the leftovers in the refrigerator. Snagging another bottle of wine from the bar, she brought it to him. "If you want to do something, open this."

He did as she asked, refilling their glasses as she returned to the sofa. Leaning back, he rolled his shoulders, trying to work the day's tension out of them.

"Take off your shirt." Caitlin set her glass down.

Surprise went through him. "Cait, I don't think-"

She had the temerity to laugh at him. "I'm not trying to seduce you. If I was, _I'd_ take your shirt off."

It was tempting. Perhaps too tempting. "Still-"

"Shush. I do this for Dom."

His eyebrow rose. "I really didn't need that image in my head."

She snorted. "Well, Dom keeps his shirt on, but I already seen you naked. Now off, and turn so your back is towards me."

He chuckled. "Bossy and dictatorial." Despite that, he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, undershirt quickly following. Truthfully, he enjoyed when she took charge and tried to boss him around. Most people whom he dealt with tended to go one of two ways – either they were afraid of him or they were obsequious suck ups. She was neither. It was refreshing. He'd also noticed that she got bossy when she was trying to take care of him and while he had no desire to be coddled, there was a part of him that reveled in that genuine concern.

Her hands began at his shoulders, smoothing across his skin and leaving goosebumps chasing in her wake. But her touch was firm, meant to relax and not tantalize and he could tell the difference. Strong thumbs dug into the tight muscles at the base of his neck before she worked outwards along his shoulders. "Feel good?" she asked, after a few minutes.

"God, yes."

"Good. Bend forward a little bit."

He did as she asked, and felt her hands move slowly down his back, seeking out all the knots of tension along his spine before finally returning to his shoulders. As he began to relax beneath her fingers, she broached a subject that that Michael didn't want to deal with. "You'll be heading out to the funeral in the morning?"

He could feel himself tensing. Apparently Caitlin felt it too, as she smoothed her thumbs up the back of his neck, working away the tightness. "Yes. I wish I could take you with me, but Sara made it a point to mention that the burial is just family."

"That's fine. You need to be there and I would just be a . . . well, a distraction."

Michael softly chuckled his agreement.

"I think you need to tell your family about William."

He tensed up again, his back straightening until Caitlin thumped him on the shoulder. "Stop that. Relax. I'm not pushing you to do anything you don't want to, but your family . . . someone at least . . . maybe just Sara and her husband. They need to know."

Caitlin kept her fingers moving, kneading at the long muscles along his spine as he thought. By slow degrees he relaxed back into her hands.

"They won't believe me."

"They will if you tell them who you are."

Michael tipped his head back until he was staring up at the ceiling, a long sigh escaping from him. "You're asking a lot."

Caitlin ran one hand through his hair and tugged slightly. "No, I'm not. You want to tell Sara that you aren't what she thinks."

"I do?" He wasn't so sure.

"There's a part of you that does. And Sara needs to know the truth about William. That he wasn't the saint she thinks he was. About his death and that it wasn't an accident."

"It would be easier to just leave things as they are."

Caitlin laughed. "Michael, you don't do easy. Besides, there's a chance this could end up hitting the media. If you don't tell them, they could eventually find out from the six o'clock news. Do you want your mother to find out like that? If you tell Sara, then she can at least soften the blow if it all ends up going public. Think about it. Either way, I'll respect your decision, you know that."

"Hmm."

Michael didn't give her any more of any answer than that, but he would think about it and he knew that was what she wanted of him. Leaving him to his thoughts she concentrated on the massage and let the silence grow between them. "There," she said, finally pulling away. "That should help."

"It did." He turned toward her. He wanted to feel those magical hands on other parts of his anatomy. Caitlin had mentioned more than once how tightly controlled he was. At the moment, he could feel that control slipping and he was more than willing to lay it all aside. "Cait. . . ." He could hear the want in his own voice.

She smiled, but held up her hand. "I told you I wasn't planning to seduce you. As much as I'd like to let you take me into the bedroom and onto that lovely king sized bed, I'm not going to, because if you do, you'll regret it in the morning. Which is why-" she stood "-I'm going to go now."

Reluctantly, he nodded. "Probably for the best. Good night, Cait."

She opened the connecting door to her own suite. "Good night."

As the door closed behind her, he dropped his head down into his hands. It was getting harder to let her walk away from him as the constant push and pull of their attraction gnawed at him. He was a complete masochist for keeping her close, but couldn't find it in himself to push her away entirely either. It didn't help that he could feel his attraction quickly slipping from the purely physical to something else entirely.

"Screwed," he breathed out to the empty room. "I'm so completely screwed."


	7. Chapter 7

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter Seven**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

Michael was gone when Cait got up and opened the door between their two suites. Taking in a deep breath, she could still smell the faint hint of the spicy cologne he favored lingering in the air. He hadn't been gone long. Yawning, she realized it was probably the sounds of him leaving that awakened her.

Feeling at somewhat loose ends, she opened the small hotel refrigerator and pulled out one of the egg rolls from last night. She could go down to breakfast, but eating alone didn't appeal to her and the egg roll would hold her just as well.

Going over to the window, she stared down into the empty pool as she ate. The funeral was going to be a small affair with a simple service. Michael had told her that he'd be back around eleven. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder at the clock. Only half past eight. Plenty of time to get herself cleaned up. Licking her fingers, she headed back to her room. Maybe she would read a few chapters of the book she'd brought. That was probably more productive than worrying about a man that was well able to take care of himself.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Hearing the door to Michael's suite open, Caitlin set down her book and headed towards the open doorway between the rooms.

"Oh, good. There you are," Michael said, as he came into the room.

She noticed that he was leaning heavily on his cane, while trying to make it look as if he wasn't. He was across the room and back again before she was even entered the suite completely. She wondered what was driving his agitation.

Caitlin planted herself in front of him to effectively force him to check his restless movements. Almost of their own volition, her fingertips grazed the front of his shirt, rising until her hands rested lightly against his chest. "What's wrong?"

He caught her hands before she pulled away, and let out a small chuckle. "I've decided to take your advice."

"You told Sara and Brad about William?"

He shook his head. "Not yet, but I intend to. Most of it, at least. I thought it would be better away from the funeral. I've invited them back here. They were a little ways behind me but should arrive in about fifteen minutes. I'd like you to be here when I tell them, to help answer any questions."

"Of course. I'll do what I can. For what it's worth, Michael, I think you're doing the right thing. Your family needs to know about William and they need to know about you."

"Thank you. I don't-"

A knock sounded on the door, impatient and loud. "Okay, quicker than I thought they'd be," Michael said as he went to answer it. As he reached for the knob, he looked back over his shoulder to where Caitlin stood. She watched him as he gave her a faint shake of his head and a rueful smile. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

He opened the door to reveal his sister Sara, the usual sneer seemingly engraved on her face. "We're here. As per your _request_ , we left Andrew and Caroline downstairs at the arcade. This had damn well better be important." Husband tightly in tow, she pushed past Michael. As she did, her eyes found Caitlin. If anything, the sneer grew. "So, I see your little tramp is sharing your room."

"Caitlin is nobody's tramp." Michael's voice turned to ice as he closed the door behind Sara and Bradley. "Not that it's any of your business, but we are not sharing a room. She has the adjoining suite. I asked her to join us for a reason, which will soon become apparent." He wheeled on the others and indicated the sofa on the other side of the room. "Sit," he demanded, with a venom Caitlin had seldom heard from him.

The two exchanged looks, but did as they had been told, their reluctance easy to read. "What's this about, Michael?"

He paced the length of the room, then back. Twice. As much as Caitlin wished he'd stay off of his leg, she knew he needed some way to express the coiled energy within him. "There are things you don't know. To begin with, you have no idea of who I am," he said, finally.

His sister's eyes hardened. "Oh, actually, I do."

"No, you don't. You and Brad have seen me in places and with people you can't explain. You've seen a style and a persona that didn't match with your expectations so you made up what you thought was a viable story and proceeded to spread it as far and wide as you could until even you started to believe it. There is only one person in the family that has even a clue, and that's your daughter."

Sara laughed, a mirthless sound. "Thanks to the nonsense you've fed her over the years, Caroline thinks you're a Russian spy."

The barest trace of a smile flitted across Michael's lips. "Caroline is rather perceptive, but she's wrong about one thing. I don't work for the Russians."

She rolled her eyes. "So now you're a spy?"

"I've always preferred the term 'intelligence agent.'"

"Of course you have." Sara stood up. "Michael, I have no idea what game you're playing, but I have no intention of being part of this fairy tale of yours." She turned slightly. "Come on Brad, we're leaving."

He let her take two steps towards the door. "Sara, I can prove it."

She spun on her heel, her mouth compressed into a hard straight line and her arms crossed across her chest. "Let me guess, you're going to pull out a shiny gold badge with CIA written across it and a secret decoder ring. Just how much does a box of Cracker Jacks go for these days?"

Michael turned to Sara's still seated husband. "Brad, you spend a fair amount of time on the Hill. Have you ever heard anyone mention the Firm?"

He gave Michael an appraising look. "The occasional bit of gossip or whisper. It's rumored to be a covert ops agency with a budget that's kept off of the official books."

A thin smile crossed Michael's lips. "If you know that much, perhaps you recognize the name 'Archangel.'"

"I've heard it once or twice. He's supposedly highly placed and extremely well regarded – are you trying to tell me you work for him?"

"I don't work for Archangel. I _am_ Archangel."

Brad froze. "You're not-"

Anyone else might have missed the quick flash of smug satisfaction that flashed across Michael's face, but Caitlin caught it. "Call your friend Senator Danforth. Tell him that Michael Coldsmith Briggs III is your brother-in-law. Once he finishes sputtering, I'm sure he will tell you exactly who I am."

Brad had blanched. "That's impossible."

"Who is this Archangel?" Sara asked him, the toe of one shoe tapping impatiently.

Brad nervously moistened his lips with his tongue. "Sara, if your brother is who he claims to be, he's one of the most powerful men in the intelligence community."

Sara's gaze shifted between the two men. It finally settled on Michael, her gaze skeptical. "You? You really expect me to believe this is true?"

Exhaling a deep breath, Michael finally lowered himself into a chair. "It's true. As I said, if you doubt it, call Danforth and ask him."

His sister dropped back onto the sofa like a deflating balloon. "Who . . . what are you? And for how long? When did you start leading this double life?

Michael spread his hands slightly. "What I am is the Deputy Director of field personnel for an Intelligence organization typically referred to as the Firm, which is loosely connected to the CIA. My focus is primarily intelligence gathering and operations. As to how long, I went into the business while I was still in college."

"Why? What on earth possessed you?"

Caitlin watched him chew at his lip, and knew he was deciding what to say. "Sara, how much do you remember of that last summer before I went off to Georgetown?"

She closed her eyes, frowning. "You went away with your friend. Jack, was it? Then. . . Mother said there'd been. . . a gas line explosion? You came home, and you couldn't hear. Even after your hearing came back, you were different. You kept to yourself. Then classes started and you were gone."

"It wasn't a gas line, Sara. It was a bomb. A terrorist organization trying to make a name for themselves. Jack and I got caught up in the middle of it."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "No one told me."

"You were eleven. William was younger. There was no reason for either of you to know." He seemed to take a sudden interest the fabric of his chair, fingering a loose thread. "I saw things that day that I didn't want anyone to ever have to witness again. When I was approached about the CIA. . ."

"Did Father know?" Sara interrupted, her voice sharp.

"I was under deep cover at the time. I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. Not even family."

Sara fell silent a moment before her gaze swept over him in obvious assessment. "You weren't in a plane crash, were you?"

"No. Someone tried very hard to kill me. Unfortunately for him, he didn't do a thorough enough job." Michael's voice dropped, the undertones hard and merciless. "Be assured, he won't try again."

Caitlin noticed that Sara was staring at Michael like she didn't recognize him, but she didn't say anything more. Bradley watched her for a moment then turned to Michael. "Those women, the ones we've always saw you with?"

"I favor female operatives. Men tend to underestimate women. That's a tendency that can be taken advantage of."

Bradley's gaze flicked across the room to meet Caitlin's. "That makes you one of Michael's agents, then?"

He answered before she could decide on the words. "She's not a Firm employee. Caitlin is exactly what I told you she was. An excellent pilot who works for people I do business with. She's also a friend."

Sara found her voice. "So many secrets for all these years. Why are you telling us this now, Michael?"

"Because someone convinced me that I should." He glanced toward Caitlin, gracing her with a small smile. He sighed, turning his attention back to Sara and her husband. "And because there's something else you need to know. William was murdered."

"Murdered?" It was Brad who asked.

"In addition to her flying skills, Caitlin is a former member of the Texas Highway Patrol. On the flight here, I related what I knew of the accident to her. She thought there were some irregularities. We've been looking into it since." He turned his attention to her. "Cait?"

"Yesterday morning we went out to where the supposed accident occurred. On the face of it, it seemed cut and dried. William was known to speed. The section of road where he went off into the ditch is consistent with a fast moving car that missed the turn. However, I found that the scene appeared incompatible with the reported injuries. The ditch was shallow and the bank not particularly steep. There shouldn't have been as much trauma as was reported in the police report. I also noted that there were no skid marks."

"He could have fallen asleep, or the brakes might have failed," Sara suggested.

"Possibly, except that I climbed the rise beside the roadway to get a better vantage point. I found half a dozen cigarette butts, and after Michael joined me, we found two spent rifle casings. Someone had been lying in wait up there. There was no accident. Your brother was shot. Most likely he was dead before he ever went off the road."

"That's all circumstantial. The police report doesn't say anything like that. Are you certain?"

Caitlin nodded, feeling more sympathy than she expected for the woman."Michael obtained a copy of the police report. It was incomplete and inaccurate. The autopsy wasn't any better, and when we went to the impound lot looking for the car, it had already been crushed due to a supposed mix up in the paperwork."

"But why would anyone want to kill William?"

Brad bit his lip and eyed his wife before turning to Michael. "It may not mean anything, and I could be completely wrong, but it wouldn't surprise me if Liz is having an affair with William's partner."

Caitlin didn't miss the look that Sara gave him. Her husband obviously hadn't shared his suspicions with her.

"That wouldn't surprise me either, but neither of them is involved." Michael reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieved a folded sheet of paper. He passed it to Sara. "During calling hours, I slipped into the study and went through William's files and computer. I found this letter that was addressed to myself. He never had a chance to mail it."

Sara unfolded the paper and began reading, her husband looking over her shoulder. As she read, her expression hardened, anger returning to her features. As she reached the end, she crushed the paper into a tight wad and threw it at Michael. "How dare you? How dare you to print up this drivel and sully William's name."

Michael hadn't moved, hadn't even blinked when the paper bounced off his chest and onto the floor. Now, he leaned forward to pick it up. Saying nothing, he flattened the sheet back out again, smoothing the paper with his fingers.

"Sara–" Brad began.

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare side with _him!_ " She spat out the words, looking close to tears.

Her husband put his arm around her. "Sara, it makes sense."

"No."

"Nobody wins the percentage of cases he was winning, Sara, especially not given the sort of cases he was taking. In retrospect, we should have realized something was going on. Remember that we all wondered how he could afford that house, the cars, all the rest of it. I guess now we know."

Tears had started to run down her cheeks. "But. . . "

Michael finally spoke. "I would imagine they pulled him in slowly. Before he realized what he was involved in, he'd gotten in so deep he didn't know how to get out. He may have rationalized that the drugs only harmed those who chose to use them. When he found out there was more involved than just drugs, he tried to put an end to it."

Sara wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. "This is going to kill Mother."

"With luck, she'll never know."

"You're not going to go to the police?"

"You read the letter. William was a very small cog on a very large wheel." Michael's voice took on a dangerous edge. "I am much more interested in the wheel." He paused before continuing. "Given the cover up, you can be certain that the local sheriff's department is involved. William's remarkable courtroom success rate suggests that the judiciary is as well. For the time being, at least, until it's determined exactly how far this goes, it's best that this remain an accident. Ultimately, well, given that bringing this to light cost William his life, I think I owe it to him to try to keep his name out of it. I will, if I can. If I can't . . . I'll try to get word to you before it goes public, so you can break it to Mother and she doesn't hear it on the news. That's part of the reason why I've told you this."

Brad was watching Michael warily, Cait noted. Perhaps finally seeing Michael for who he was rather than what he thought him to be. Caitlin rather hoped Brad was suddenly remembering every dangerous tale and hushed conversation he'd ever heard about the man referred to on the Hill as Archangel. It was rather vindictive, but she couldn't find it within herself to feel guilty.

"What are you going to do?" Sara asked.

Michael ignored the question as he folded the sheet of paper and returned it to his pocket. "I trust that for now, at least, this will remain between us?"

Tears beginning to come again, Sara whispered her agreement. "Yes."

Brad nervously looked from her to Michael. "If we're finished here?"

"Almost. Just one more thing. When you leave, I want you to send Caroline up here for a few minutes."

"Caroline? Why?" The suspicion was evident in Sara's voice.

"Your daughter told Cait last night that she wants to be a spy when she grows up."

"So what, you're planning to recruit her?" Suspicion veered toward accusation.

"No. I intend to do my best to talk her out of it. It's not a career I would recommend to anyone, Sara, especially not to my niece."

She hesitated then finally nodded. "All right. I'll send her up."

Michael nodded. Brad and Sara rose, and he led her to the door.

"Sara." Rising to his feet, Michael stopped her as she reached for the doorknob.

She turned to look back at him through reddened eyes.

"Mother worries enough as it is. There's no reason for her to know what I really do." He paused for just a beat, and when he continued, the hard edge was back in his voice. "However, I'd prefer it if she didn't think I was a pimp."

As she let herself out, Sara had the grace to blush.

The door closed with a soft click and Michael's shoulders slumped wearily. Caitlin wanted nothing more than to go to him and enfold him in her arms, but knew she couldn't. She watched as he wandered back to the couch, dropping heavily onto the cushions. He scrubbed his hands up his face and under his glasses, rubbing hard at his eyes for a moment before dropping his arms to rest on his knees. "The sad part of all of this is that it really won't change much."

"How so?"

"Sara's contrite now. She's embarrassed and feeling foolish. That won't last long. She still will blame me for her father's death. In fact, knowing the truth now, she's even more likely to place that blame on me. And human nature being what it is, some of what William did will also become my fault – for not being there, for not stepping in sooner."

"Is that why you didn't tell her the rest of it?" Caitlin had read the letter William had written to Michael, and knew that it didn't mention the governor. That information had only been in some of William's other notes

"Partly. That and the fact that both she and her husband are politically connected. I don't want to risk the chance of word getting back to Nelson."

"They wouldn't, would they?"

"I doubt it. Not intentionally, at any rate, but I don't trust either of them not to slip."

"You didn't answer Sara. Have you decided how you're going to handle this?"

"Truthfully, I'm not sure. The Firm's charter is technically only for international affairs, not domestic law enforcement-" Whatever else he was about to say was interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. "That's Caroline, I would imagine." Michael started to rise.

Caitlin gave a quick shake of her head. "Let me." Not waiting for an answer, she rose and crossed to the door, opening it to reveal Caroline waiting in the hallway.

"You wanted to see me, Uncle Michael?" the girl asked, peering past Caitlin into the room.

"I did. Please come in."

Cait ushered Caroline into the room. She was rocking on her toes, radiating a nervous energy Caitlin didn't quite understand.

Michael was staring at Caroline, probably unsure exactly where to begin this conversation and so it amused Caitlin when Caroline spoke first.

"Am I in trouble?"

Michael jerked slightly, shooting Caitlin a startled look before focusing back on his niece. "Why would you ask that?"

"Mother seemed upset when she said you wanted to talk to me. Last night, did I do something wrong?"

Cait watched Michael's expression soften. "No, hun. You're not in trouble. Your mother. . . that's not about you."

Caroline sighed her relief. "Uncle William, then."

"Yes. And myself." Michael reached out and patted the sofa beside him. "Come, sit for a minute."

She crossed the room and perched lightly on the edge of the cushion, turning her body so she faced Michael and Caitlin. She hesitated, and her gaze flicked to meet Caitlin's before turning back to her uncle. "Was Uncle William a spy, too?"

To his credit, Michael only winced slightly at term. "No."

"But you are." It wasn't a question and Caroline was practically vibrating in place trying to contain her glee at finally getting an answer out of her 'mysterious' uncle.

Michael let out a small sigh. "Yes, I am. Although, I'm long retired from the field."

"I knew it! And now all those people . . ." She trailed off, her body language deflating as she made a face. "I can't tell anyone, can I." Again, it wasn't a question.

"I'm sorry, but that wouldn't be wise."

Now it was Caroline's turn to sigh, although hers was a more dramatic one, befitting a pre-teen girl. "It's not like anyone would have believed me anyhow. They haven't in the past." She made another face. "But you want to know about Uncle William, don't you?"

"What makes you think that? Did something happen?"

Caroline chewed at her lip. "When we were here at Christmas, I . . . I was passing by his office, and there were two men. Big, tough looking men in suits. They had accents. Mexican, I think. There was a pile of money on the desk. One of the men said something about 'pay you well' and sounded angry. Uncle William . . . he sorta acted like he was afraid of them. At the time I thought maybe they were clients."

Michael frowned. "Did either of them see you 'passing by'?"

The color rose in Caroline's cheeks, and she ducked her head. "No. I didn't say anything and stayed out of sight."

"Good." He paused, no doubt choosing his words. "Your uncle got in over his head with some bad people."

"That's why you were in his study last night." She took a deep breath. "Did the people he was involved with have something to do with the accident?"

"In a manner of speaking." Michael stroked his mustache with one long finger. "Caroline, your parents know about William, and they know about me, now. Other than that, though, I need you to keep all this a secret. It could be dangerous if the wrong people find out that we're onto them."

She nodded solemnly. "I won't say anything."

"Thank you. There's something else I wanted to talk to you about. Cait tells me you're learning Russian."

"Da, ya khochu byt' shpionom, kak vy."

Michael blew out a long breath. "No, you don't. It may sound glamorous and exciting but it's not, and that, Caroline, is what I really wanted to talk to you about."

Caroline's eyes narrowed, much like Cait had seen Michael's do when verbally sparring with Hawke. "You think I can't do it because I'm a girl?"

That startled a snort out of a Michael. "Of course not. You're obviously smart and dedicated and capable of doing anything you put your mind to. But Caroline, I would not want my life for you. It's not glamorous. It's hard and dark and I have seen and done things that I can't unsee or undo. There are a thousand things I would want different for you."

"But-"

"Take off your glasses," Cait interrupted, directing her comment to Michael. "Take them off for a minute."

After a moment's hesitation, Michael complied, staring forward with one blue eye and one milky white.

"Caroline." Caitlin made sure to meet Caroline's gaze and hold it. "I understand wanting to do something that no one else thinks you can do. Everyone told me girls couldn't be pilots, so I learned to fly. They told me I couldn't be a police officer, so I joined the Texas Highway Patrol."

She directed Caroline's gaze to Michael. "Your uncle wasn't always blind and he didn't always walk with a limp. Someone did that to him because of his job. There's always a price to pay."

When Caroline looked away, Michael put his glasses back on. "Think about it Caroline. If you want to serve your country, if you want your life to mean something, I completely understand and I will stand behind you. The Diplomatic Service would be more than happy to take someone with your intelligence." He grinned at her. "And your horribly accented Russian. Ambassador Caroline Shipman has a nice ring to it."

Caroline nodded. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask. And Caroline, about William – I'm investigating who killed him. I promise, one way or another I won't let them get away with it."

Now Caroline smiled. "Thanks, Uncle Michael."

"Okay. You better get moving. I'm surprised your mother hasn't already come looking for you."

"Yeah."

Caitlin saw Caroline out before returning to take a seat on the couch. "Diplomatic Service?"

Michael shrugged. "She's young, but I actually think she'd make a good agent. She's observant and that's one of the things we look for in a candidate. But the Diplomatic corp needs the same type of people and it's a much safer path."

"You promised Caroline that you'd find William's killers."

He gave her a shark-like grin. "I did. It's about more than William, but nevertheless, I want to bring them down." His expression softened, grew more contemplative. "I need more information first – strengths, weaknesses, connections – and a solid plan. I don't want anyone walking on a technicality. And since there is a governor potentially tied into this, I'm going to need authorization for whatever Op I set in motion. Speaking of authorization, can you change our flight plan? I need to go to Washington."

She nodded slowly, working the details and logistics out in her mind. "I don't think that will be a problem. DC is just outside the range of the Cessna, though, so we'll have to make a refueling stop. I'll need to call Dom and tell him that there's been a change of plans."

He made a small grimace of distaste. "I can call Santini."

She let out a small chuckle. "No, it's probably best if I make that call."

"Tell him I want to extend the rental on the plane. Same terms."

"Michael, you don't need to do that. They don't use the Cessna much, I'm sure he'd be happy to rent it for the standard rate."

He gave her a sideways look. "With all the times I've pulled him and Hawke away from a paying job, I don't mind." He shrugged. "Besides, with the trip to Washington, it officially becomes Firm business and I can expense it. In fact, if I don't expense it, it will look suspicious."

She nodded her acceptance. "If we leave tomorrow morning, we can be in DC by late afternoon."

He nodded. "I'd like to limit the trip to just a meeting at the White House and a quick turnaround, but that would raise too many red flags. I have enough ongoing projects that Sam can set up some additional appointments. Not to mention that once I step foot in that city I'll get dragged into other meetings."

"You knew the hazards of the job when you signed on . . . danger, intrigue, and politicians."

He made a face. "I was seventeen. If I'd known about the politicians I might have changed my mind."

She laughed softly at him and rose up from her chair. "I'll go next door and call Dom and the airport."

"Thanks." As she reached the open connecting door between their suites, he stopped her. "Caitlin, I wasn't kidding about getting pulled into the morass of meetings that is DC. You might as well stop by the boutique and get yourself at least two more changes of clothes."

"Michael-" Her admonishment died as his gaze swept over her.

"And-" he hesitated for brief second. "And if it wouldn't be too much of an imposition, buy something in white."

She sucked in a breath in shock. "What?"

"I don't travel alone. It will look strange if I suddenly show up in DC without an aide. The Hill runs on gossip and I'll need to keep my presence as normal and quiet as possible."

She nodded in understanding before slipping through the doorway.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

The steady drone of the Cessna's engines filled the cockpit. It was a sound that had, in the past, always soothed Caitlin whenever she was restless. With that calming steady background, her thoughts had free flight to range as far and as deep as she needed them to. In the privacy of her own head she called it Airplane Zen.

Unfortunately, it wasn't working today. She missed Michael's presence beside her in the co-pilot's seat, which was completely ridiculous because he was sitting only a few feet behind her. He'd started out next to her, but she'd seen him shifting uncomfortably in the cramped quarters and suggested he move back and take one of the larger and more comfortable passenger seats in the back of the plane. She hadn't mentioned the fact that he'd be able to stretch out his leg, but had told him that the seat next to him would give him a place to spread out some of the documents he'd had printed at the hotel before leaving.

He'd given her a "Good point," and had taken his stack of paper and a handful of multicolored pens and highlighters that she was fairly certain he'd swiped from the hotel, and moved into the back. He'd shrugged when she'd given him an amused and questioning look over the pens. "The unglamorous side of what I do. When it comes down to it, I'm just a number cruncher."

She twisted so she could see Michael over her shoulder. She'd set the flight plan for a stop and refuel outside of Memphis and they'd be coming up on that shortly. The plane being fairly small, she just raised her voice. "Michael?"

Hearing Caitlin call his name, Michael put down the stack of papers he was reading and headed forward. He propped himself on her seat back and leaned over slightly. "Are we there yet?"

She laughed at him. "Yes. I'm starting our descent. Should be on the ground shortly."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Nodding his thanks, Michael turned back to the passenger area and carefully gathered up the various stacks of paper laid out across multiple seats. He didn't want their landing to slide any of them out of order. Once done he stuffed all the papers into a folder and took the seat directly behind Caitlin. As he settled into the seat he was amused to hear Caitlin humming a slightly off-key version of Elvis's _Blue Suede Shoes_.

From his vantage point, he listened and watched as she brought the plane in for a landing, her hands steady and sure on the controls. As they taxied off the runway, Caitlin turned slightly to catch his attention. "I'll start the paperwork and get the plane refueled if you want to get out and take a walk to stretch your legs and use the facilities. I've flown into Millington before – it's not much more than a refueling stop with no commercial services. Lunch, I'm afraid, is going to be vending machine fair. They keep a coffee pot going though. Just drop some change in the jar on the table. Then, depending on how much traffic they've got, we should be in and out in about an hour, maybe an hour and half."

"It's not a problem," he answered, quite pleased with himself and the surprise he'd arranged when she'd mentioned stopping here. He was hungry and he guessed she was as well. Chips and a candy bar were not his idea of a proper lunch.

Letting Caitlin handle the fueling arrangements, he grabbed his cane and exited the plane as soon as she popped the latch on the door and let down the landing steps. Heading towards the tower building, he enjoyed the cool bite in the air and hoped that his delivery would arrive on time. 

**A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

"Oh God," she moaned quietly, "This is sooo good."

Her moan, a sound he was intimately familiar with, albeit under completely different circumstances, had Michael averting his gaze as Caitlin stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked barbecue sauce from it. Her actions combined with her pleased noises did nothing to help his control. He wasn't sure he'd ever been jealous of barbecue before.

"This is phenomenal," she said, taking another bite from the rib she held in one hand.

Now that she was eating again, he risked looking at her. "You've never had Rendezvous's barbeque before?"

She shook her head as she took another bite. "Never really spent much time in Memphis." As she chewed, she gave him a contemplative stare.

"What?" he asked.

"How on earth do you stay clean?"

He huffed out a laugh. That was not what he was expecting her to say. "I'm not sure I know what you mean?"

She used the rib she was eating to point at him. "You are eating barbeque and baked beans and you are spotless." She glanced down toward the two spots of sauce already decorating her denims. "It's unnatural."

He laughed again. "A lot of practice over a lot of years."

"Uh mhmm." At her hum, partially at him and partially at the food he was sure, he decided to make a strategic retreat before he did something embarrassing like taking her thumb and licking the sauce off himself.

Pushing away his empty plate and gathering up his folder, he started to flip through the papers again as Caitlin finished eating, looking for ties and connections he might have missed.

"So have you found anything you can use in there?"

"Bits and pieces. William was able to pull in a remarkable amount of information, but he didn't really understand what he was seeing or where the links were. That's what I'm trying to do now. Figure out the links. Once that's done, I'll be calling in some markers."

The sound of paper tearing brought his head up and he watched her delicately wipe her fingers and hands with one of the provided wet towelettes. "Won't that get back to Zeus and the Firm?"

He gave her a grin, all teeth and deadly intent. "There are a lot of people who owe me in Washington. I contacted Sam last night and told her that we would be diverting there. She will have a legitimate itinerary for me for meetings both at Langley and the Attorney General's Office as well as an update for a current project with the White House."

Getting up from her own chair, she brushed down her jeans. "All right then. I'll take care of the trash, you continue your plotting, and then we'll head out. Next stop Washington."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Leaning against the doorway between their adjoining suites in the Hotel Washington, Caitlin fought down her amusement. At some point, Michael had removed his jacket, vest, tie and shoes to make himself more comfortable. It was the fact that he still looked more formally dressed in his shirt and pants than most people did in fancy attire that tickled her the most. He had pulled up a chair and was currently leaning over his suite's table, William's papers arrayed in a wide arc that must have made some kind of sense to him as she could see notes and lines in various shades of ink marked across them. Michael's concentration on the data before him was so intense that he didn't even notice her presence.

He was absently tapping one of the pens against his lower lip, a habit she'd never noticed before, as he read one of the documents. Every so often he'd jot down notes on a page or underline some bit of information that he deemed pertinent. There was a quiet intensity to him that drew Caitlin's fascinated attention. This was an entirely new facet to Michael's personality that she hadn't seen before – the master spy shifting through data, analyzing the patterns, and formulating plans.

He'd been at it for hours, first on the plane and then in the limo when it had arrived at the airport to pick them up. Even before the doors had closed on the car, Michael had been using the phone in the back. His first call had been to Samantha who had assured him with her regular competency that she'd arranged the meetings he'd requested. A second call had followed where Michael had given only his codename before listening intently for a few minutes and then disconnecting.

Within an hour of their arriving at the hotel and checking into the adjoining suites, a small computer and printer had been delivered and set up on the desk in Michael's room. Within three hours, two different agents had appeared to hand deliver additional information and printouts. Shortly thereafter, she'd received a surprising knock at her suite's door only to find a delivery man with a bag of Indian food.

Standing there watching Michael with the bag of food in her hand, seeing that focused determination, Caitlin finally acknowledged something that she'd been denying. She was falling in love with Michael. She wasn't naive enough to think she was there yet, but she was well on the path and while she could tell herself it was friendship or attraction or even lust, she knew she'd be lying. She was falling and falling fast and when she hit the ground it was going to hurt. But he needed her help and she was going to give it to him. If in the process she handed over her heart, she'd deal with the heartbreak later.

"I've got you, you son of a bitch!"

The curse was low and growled out through gritted teeth. It was unlike him. Michael rarely cursed – at least outside of the bedroom. She quickly shut down that train of thought. "Michael? What is it?"

He looked up, blinking at her for a moment. She could almost see the shift as Archangel transitioned into Michael, as he took her in and reoriented himself to the room and what else was going on outside of printed words and maps. "Oh, the food arrived. Good."

She pitched her voice low and threatening. 'Michael . . . "

He just gave her that devastating grin in return and started putting papers away, clearing the space. "Food first. I'll explain it all as we eat."

A few minutes later, picking through the food she set down on the table, Michael made a plate up for himself and then settled onto the suite's small couch. He smiled as he took the first bite, savoring the taste with a low hum of enjoyment. "I spent eight months in India a number of years ago. I developed a fondness for curry. The spicier the better."

Cait paused with her fork raised halfway to her mouth. Michael waved his own fork at her. "I wasn't sure of your tolerance or tastes so this is all mostly mild." He pointed to one carton. "Except that one."

"Warning duly noted." She toed off her shoes and shifted on the couch so that she could curl her legs up onto the seat and lean back into the corner with her plate. "So, tell me what you've found."

"Mostly a bigger mess than William ever dreamed of." He shook his head. "Let me begin with some back story. About fifteen years ago, a Mexican crime lord named Juan Garcia was killed by a rival gang under the control of one Hector Vasquez. Vasquez was making a bid for power and a larger share of the profits. Garcia's assassination was actually a brilliant bit of work by Vasquez as instead of taking credit for the kill, he framed a third, smaller organization under Jesus Morales."

"Vasquez started a gang war hoping that Garcia's organization and Morales's would eliminate each other leaving him to take over."

"Exactly. The only problem was that Morales wasn't as stupid or as much of a pushover as Vasquez thought. Garcia's organization was disorganized and leaderless, his top lieutenants fighting it out amongst themselves for supreme power while at the same time trying to take out Morales as a show of loyalty and power.

Caitlin nodded. Working the Texas Highway Patrol she'd had dealings with the drug gangs and their infighting over turf. "Makes sense. If any lieutenant could take out Morales then he'd have proved to the rest of the organization that he was strong enough to lead."

"Ah, but while Morales didn't have the resources in men or money as the other two, intel suggests that he was a whole lot smarter. He turned the tables on the others, started feeding bits of misinformation to one lieutenant or another, worked their own infighting against each other and at the same time started to leak information on Vasquez's organization to both US and Mexican authorities. Basically, he staged a small scale guerrilla war within the ranks of the two larger organizations. It was a bloodbath that lasted almost eleven months. When the dust settled Jesus Morales emerged on top and consolidated the remains of all three organizations together under his command."

"But that was all, what did you say . . . fifteen years ago?"

He nodded. "About ten years ago, Morales recruited a low life named Carlos Luis. First generation American. Luis was an eighth grade dropout who was running on the streets of El Paso, Texas from the time he was ten. He was strictly small time but he was smart, cunning, ambitious and completely amoral. Within a few years, he was moving up the Morales gang's hierarchy and moving up quickly. You see, Luis wasn't content with the drug trade that Morales was running. With Morales's blessings, he moved into human trafficking and weapon sales, not only in the US but abroad – the stakes were higher but the profits were larger. Turns out that Luis was good at it. That's when he first showed up on the Firm's radar.

"Then, seven years ago, Morales had a massive heart attack. Carlos Luis seized the reins of the entire operation. His people control virtually all of the drug activity in southwestern Texas. It's a safe bet he's the one behind this."

"Which brings us to William."

"Which brings us to William," he agreed. "The DEA and Mexican authorities have very little hard data on Luis. They call him 'The Ghost.' We've got two black and white photos from his school days for the sixth and seventh grades in Texas, and nothing else. We don't know what he looks like, much less where to find him, although rumor has it that he crosses the border between the US and Mexico frequently."

"So if William's job was to funnel money into Governor Nelson's campaign, you think Luis was trying to buy him?"

"It certainly looks like it." Michael gestured toward the disks. "There's circumstantial evidence there that he has at least one judge on his payroll, which explains how William won so many cases. A politician or two wouldn't shock me. Add that to Luis's other ambitions. Having control of Nelson, especially if he does take the White House, would give him an immunity that he'd be hard pressed to pass up."

They both ate quietly for a few more minutes as Caitlin thought through the information. "If the Firm, via Zeus, really is compromised—" she left that thought hanging.

Michael sighed. "Which is why I'm not using Firm resources. Everything I've got so far has been pulled in via favors from other sources. DEA, FBI, the Mexican government. The problem with that is while the other agencies were willing to provide me with information, they aren't going to share resources."

"You've got Hawke and Airwolf." It wasn't a question.

"True, but the hard part of this is finding Luis. Once I do – if as the DEA suspects, he's holed up in some Mexican fortress – Airwolf would be an asset there."

Caitlin studied him, her eyes narrowed slightly. He was pleased about something. "You have an idea. Something that pleases you."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "You really are beginning to read me all too well. I should be worried, you know. But you're correct. Although the idea isn't a particularly good one and might be something of a long shot at that. Governor Nelson is hosting an exclusive, invitation only campaign fundraiser at a resort in Texas next month."

"How exclusive?"

"It's limited to million dollar plus campaign donors and the only way to get in is to be invited or recommended by another invitee. It's a weekend affair where the elite will be wined, dined, and entertained for the purpose of getting them to open their wallets."

"You think Luis will be there?"

"We may not know what Luis looks like, but we know he likes his pleasures – beautiful women, the finest foods, and all the luxuries that he didn't have on the streets of El Paso. If Luis really comes in and out of the US at will, then with his ambitions, my guess is that he'll want to be there at that party. A no-name street kid who has the opportunity to rub shoulders with the some of the wealthiest people in America – people that he despises and thinks of as little more than fools. Yes, I think there's a fairly good chance that he'll be there."

"Are you going to try to go in as part of the security detail? I'm sure they'll have one."

He shook his head. "Too risky. Nelson's people would be suspicious if there were changes to the security detail this close to the party. However, an invitation extended to Michael Briggs would make me just another name on the invitation list."

"Are you . . . I mean, I know you are . . ." Her words tumbled to a halt. She'd always known Michael was wealthy – the cars, clothes and the polo ponies were not something that even a well off individual could have afforded. But she didn't know how to ask if he was _that_ wealthy without it coming out sounding crass.

"Are you trying to ask if I'm in that class?" His eyes danced with amusement at her obvious embarrassment. "No, not even close. However, Michael Briggs of Briggs Enterprises, is. At least on paper. One of the meetings Sam set up is with the White House. If the President okays the op, then I'll also have one of his staffers contact Nelson's organization to add me to the invite list. Even as a last minute addition, they aren't likely to suspect anything if the direction comes from the top."

"So, you'll have a legitimate invitation to the party. How will you identify Luis?"

He grimaced. "That part of the plan is a little more nebulous. I'm hoping he's using his real name – it's not an uncommon name, and it's unlikely that anyone would be looking for a drug kingpin at such an event. It would make things a lot simpler. Otherwise, it becomes a matter of eliminating everyone else."

She grinned. "Don't you know by now? Nothing is ever simple."

"Thanks," he said dryly. "Speaking of never being simple . . . about tomorrow and your role."

Caitlin felt butterflies lift off in her stomach. She'd actually been dreading this and had been putting off talking about her duties. Swallowing a sigh, she set her plate on the coffee table before leaning back again. "So what exactly do your aides do? I mean, I've seen Marella and Sam work, but those are typically Airwolf missions and they were focused on setting up refueling stops and easing passage through foreign countries."

He put down his plate as well before leaning into the opposite corner of the small couch, his body angled towards her. "Truthfully? They keep me out of trouble and handle all of the small details so that I can concentrate on the big picture. Occasionally they act as a buffer between me and people who want my attention. Don't be surprised if when they are unable to speak to me, people begin to present their case to you. Just nod, take notes, and I'll debrief you later."

"But what if it's confidential? Or Top Secret?"

"Cait, do you have any idea what your security clearance is?"

"I don't have a security clearance."

He gave her a vague and somewhat mysterious smile. "You'll be fine."

She took a second to absorb that then had another distressing thought. "Do your aides work as bodyguards?"

"Yes, among other things."

She nodded. "You rarely seem to be armed. I've wondered."

"Even when I was active in the field, I didn't always carry a weapon. When people discover that you're armed, they always automatically assume you're an enemy. I discovered that I was actually better at talking my way out of most situations, a talent that has served me well in my current position." He gave her a quick grin. "Manipulative bastard, remember."

"Anyone likely to take potshots at you?"

"Tomorrow? Undoubtedly there are a few in town who would like to, but I don't think we'll have to worry about that during this trip. I think for the most part, you are going to be bored following me around. It will be your job to keep me on schedule with the meetings, especially at Langley. Casey likes to talk and will keep me there all day if he can. Don't hesitate to interrupt. Keep your eyes and ears open. It's amazing, and frankly rather appalling, what people will say in front of my agents. I may ask you to go over some of the specifics of the analysis you did of William's accident, but nothing you can't handle."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

He caught her knee and gave it a brief squeeze. "You'll do fine. Although I would suggest turning in early. The meeting with the State Department starts at nine."


	8. Chapter 8

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter Eight**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

Michael had the hotel deliver breakfast for their early morning start. He'd been amused when she'd wandered in through the connecting door between their rooms wrapped up in one of the hotel robes to eat, muttering about messy food, white clothes, and ungodly hours.

He watched her over the rim of his coffee cup in bemusement. "Not a morning person?"

"This is not morning. This is pre-morning. Not to mention the fact my body is still on California time." She took a bite of buttered toast before waving it in his direction. "And why are you so chipper?"

"I'm used to it. I don't sleep much anymore and when I do I'm a light sleeper." He couldn't help remembering back to that night in her bed when he'd enjoyed a deep and dreamless sleep. He'd slept rather well with her in _his_ bed, too. "Usually," he added.

Covering a yawn, she nodded at him. "We need to work on that. It's not good for you."

He hid a smile behind another sip and called himself six different kinds of fool as her use of the word " _we"_ sent warmth spreading through his chest. _Time for a strategic retreat_ , he decided. Placing the mostly empty coffee cup on the room service tray, he picked up the folder he'd left on the desk. "I'm going to go over my notes one more time. The car will be downstairs in forty-five minutes."

Retreating to the couch, he resolutely turned his back to her and forced himself to focus on the minutia of facts and figures. He was not listening to the small sounds of her morning routine as she got dressed, nor was he relaxing in the simple domesticity of those noises. _He wasn't,_ he reminded himself, _because there was no point._ Eventually, he did get lost in the numbers.

"I'm ready."

Dragging his attention back from the report he was reading, Michael looked up only to suck in a ragged breath. Having your heart skip a beat was a complete cliche, but it didn't stop the small stutter Michael felt when his gaze focused on Caitlin standing in the doorway between their rooms. She was dressed in his signature white; both suit and elegant leather boots. It marked her as _his._ If it also made him feel slightly guilty at his sudden surge of chauvinistic possessiveness, well, he'd live with that.

Caitlin ran her hands down the front of her suit uncertainly, but her eyes caught his boldly. "If Hawke or Dom saw me right now."

He rose up from the couch and took a step towards her. "My head would be on a platter and there'd be an apple in my mouth." His gaze trailed over her again. She looked beautiful. _Stunning._ But she also looked nervous and he needed Caitlin to be something else today. "You look like you were born to wear white."

It appeared it was the right thing to say as her tense shoulders relaxed almost immediately, falling into something more confident. "Only if I could have a dry cleaner on call at all times. I'm going to be paranoid all day about getting dirty."

He picked up the briefcase that had been delivered the previous evening, stuffing the report he'd been reading inside and re-closing it before gesturing Cait towards the door. "Does that mean that the Italian I'd planned for lunch is out?

She sent a menacing glare in his direction. "If you come within ten feet of me with a plate of spaghetti I will hurt you." She wiggled her fingers at him. "Now hand it over."

"Hand what over?"

"The briefcase." She grinned at him. "My job, remember?"

As he passed her the case, her expression fell into more serious lines, but he could still see the sparkle of mischief. "Shall we, Sir?" Her tone both professional and studiously innocent. "The car is downstairs and we have an appointment at nine."

He was still chuckling as he let her lead him out the door. _Caitlin was going to do just fine_.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin slipped behind Michael, taking her place one step back and to his left. She wasn't quite sure how he felt about her taking that position, but it made her feel better and until he told her to stop, she was planning on staying where she was. During their morning, a dozen different people had already come up to greet or speak to Michael. Half of those had attempted to come at him from his blind side, either through ignorance or as a subtle sort of power play. Either way, she was having none of it and had been quick to position herself so as to delicately force them to go around her to his front.

It was the whispers and the looks, she decided, that got to her the most. She knew she was being more sensitive to it, but she couldn't help but notice the stares and comments that followed the two of them through the hallways. Acting as his aide had been an eye-opening experience. While she knew that Michael was a respected and powerful member of the intelligence community, she really hadn't _known_. She'd been introduced to Michael though Dom's abrasive disrespect and String's oft-times belligerence. Even Marella and Sam, while fiercely loyal to Michael, treated him with the relaxed respect of long time employees. She'd taken her cues for interaction from all of them, slipping into an informal familiarity with him that now seemed presumptuous and somewhat tactless.

They'd met with two officials from the Justice Department early. True to Michael's prediction, she'd been mostly bored as he'd gone over his findings and went through the motions of seeking permission to move to the next phase of the op he was planning against Luis's operation.

They were now headed towards the Senate offices of Jay Rockefeller, the Chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. This meeting, Cait knew, was a legitimate one that Michael had asked Sam to schedule. It had nothing to do with Luis.

"Caitlin?" Michael called softly.

Taking a quick extra step, she fell in beside him. "Sir?"

She watched as Michael fought to control a smirk. The same smirk he'd worn every other time she'd called him "sir" that day. She would have given quite a lot to know what he was thinking every time she said the word.

He tilted towards her slightly, while lowering his voice against the echoing effects of the marble floored hallway they were headed down. "This will be a private meeting with Senator Rockefeller. He's got a nice outer office you can wait in and his secretary is named Lynne. She's been on the hill for probably twenty years and knows every piece of gossip worth knowing. See if you can get her talking about Governor Nelson."

Cait felt her stomach churn. Acting as Michael's aide was nerve wracking enough. She kept expecting someone to pop out of the woodwork and yell "Fraud!" But she nodded her head in agreement as Michael stopped in front of a wooden door.

"This is it." Opening the door, he swept inside and Caitlin dutifully followed, slowing her pace so that she could fall once again that step behind him.

"Ah, Archangel. Good to see you. Frank just left so we can actually start on time for once."

Cait looked up to see an older gentleman with glasses perched on the end of his nose and thinning blonde hair that was losing its battle against the gray. He was soft-spoken and the unmistakable slow drawl of the South colored his words.

As the two men shook hands, sharp eyes met hers over Michael's shoulder in an assessing gaze before settling back on Michael. Caitlin kept her face impassive and moved off to the side of the small reception area, her gaze sweeping across the room. She felt rather like she was playing a game of dress-up spy Barbie and somewhere deep inside her there was a little girl that desperately wanted to break down in giggles. Thankfully, twenty-eight year old Caitlin was a lot more mature than the six year old version.

As the Senator led Michael back into his office and the door closed behind him, the person behind the desk, a cherub-cheeked woman who looked to be in her sixties, and reminded Caitlin of her grandmother, was up immediately. She crossed the room, her hand outstretched in Cait's direction. "Hi, I'm Lynne."

"Caitlin," she answered, shaking the other woman's hand.

Lynne was giving her a broad, friendly smile. "You're new? I don't think I've ever seen you with Archangel before. Is Sam okay?"

Caitlin returned her smile. "Sam's fine but was on assignment." She chose her words with care. "Archangel needed an assistant for this trip and I was available."

Lynne laughed. "An assistant? More like he needs an entire staff. I've seen that man work. I don't know how you do it. I'd be run ragged keeping up with him."

Caitlin relaxed a little. "Oh, you're being generous. I doubt Senator Rockefeller is kicked back in his chair with his feet up."

Lynne leaned forward like she was about to impart a secret of the universe. "He's too old school to be putting his feet on the furniture. So, I was just about to head down the hall to the break room for some of the good coffee. Would you like some?"

Caitlin chewed on her bottom lip and eyed the door to the office Michael had disappeared into. She probably shouldn't leave her post but break rooms, she knew, were prime gossip territory.

Lynne sensed her hesitation. "Don't worry. They'll be in there at least thirty minutes. Plenty of time. He'll never know you were gone."

"Okay. You talked me into it. I could use a good cup of coffee."

Lynne opened the door into the hallway. "This way."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

It had been a long and tiring day and it still wasn't over. It was one of the reasons Michael avoided Washington whenever possible and was more than happy to let Zeus handle the politicians and the contractors and the intrigue. You couldn't turn over a rock in this city without unearthing a dozen spies – corporate, political, domestic and foreign – they all found themselves here. The irony that he was here as well was not lost on him. But one more meeting and he could take Caitlin back to the hotel and relax. Michael watched her stretch her legs out in the back of the limo, rolling her head slowly. "You doing okay?"

She gave him a faint smile. "Tired. I don't think I ever realized how much you do."

He chuckled. "It's not always like this. Being in DC always makes for longer days." He turned slightly to glance out the dark tinted window of the limo, judging where they were and how much longer they had to go through the late afternoon traffic. "We'll be there soon. After this meeting with the President, we'll be done for the day. I'm hopeful that he'll approve my request to pursue this. Tomorrow there's just one debrief in the morning with the NSA." He gave her a sly smile. "If you run into a man named Fredricks, don't be surprised if he tries to offer you a job." His expression shifted to one of annoyance. "The bastard is always trying to poach my people."

"So says the man who has me wearing white."

He gave her an unrepentant look. "It's not my fault you look good in white. Not to mention that Sam said you've taken well to the Firm training I authorized."

Cait snorted in amusement. "Don't go getting any ideas, buster. I'm on temporary loan here and as soon as we're back in California I'll be back to jeans, t-shirts and motor oil beneath my fingernails. Greasy fingerprints would look horrible against all that white."

"I'm hurt," he said with a wounded air.

She snorted again, her eyes dancing with merriment. "I don't think I've ever thanked you for the training, by the way. So thank you." Her expression turned more serious as she fiddled with the sleeve of her suit jacket. "It's meant a lot to me. I hate always being the weak link and being underestimated."

"Cait, you aren't weak."

Her lips quirked upwards for a second before twisting into something sour. "Then, always being _thought of_ as the weak link. I hate people looking at me and immediately thinking, 'Hey look, a girl, let's grab her. Then the big dangerous men will do whatever we want."

"And there is the reason that sixty percent of my operatives are women. Because people underestimate them and then they get taken down."

Her smile came back, tinged with that streak of mischief he enjoyed. "Really? That's why they're women? Because there is a very small, but vocal group among the secretaries that says you're gay and that all the different beautiful women that accompany you are just cover. Supposedly, you are having a mad, passionate affair with one of the congressmen."

Michael blinked at her for moment. "That one's new," he said slowly. "Although, I suppose not surprising given my rather obvious . . . eccentricities." He gave it another minute of thought and then shrugged. "At least they aren't still debating whether I was involved in the Nigerian Palace coup back in August."

Cait's brows rose in obvious question, but he liked the fact that she didn't ask. There were things he could and couldn't say and there had been enough women over the years that had ended things with him simply because they couldn't handle the silences. Caitlin, he realized, understood, and that understanding eased a tight knot of tension he hadn't even really realized he was carrying. She didn't even question when he sidestepped the conversation. "I see Lynne filled you in on all the gossip."

"She was a font of ever flowing knowledge."

"Were you able to . . . ah, we're here. You'll have to tell me everything later. But for now, follow my lead," he said, reaching for the limo door only to stop at the feel of her hand on his leg. One brow rose in question.

"My job, remember?"

He sat back with a huff of breath, but waved her graciously towards the door. Letting her out first did have its advantages, after all, as he got to eye the flash of smooth tanned skin between the top of her leather boot and the edge of her skirt before she exited the car.

They'd been met by two secret service agents at the West Wing entrance. A metal detector and a cursory pat down in the lobby later, they'd followed their escort down a short hallway. When they turned right instead of left, Michael realized they were heading towards the Chief of Staff's office rather the Oval Office. Caitlin, Michael noted, was doing it again – stepping into his blind spot as if she belonged there. Only Marella had ever done that with any frequency and even then she'd not made it a conscious habit. Caitlin really did spoil him.

Their escort stopped in front of a nondescript door. "Sir. Mr. Regan is expecting you."

Michael nodded to the agent, as Caitlin stepped forward to open the door and usher him inside. Now, the real tap dancing would begin.

Forty minutes later he'd briefed the Secretary of State on everything they knew. Regan was steadily massaging the bridge of his nose while steadfastly ignoring Michael. As Regan was in charge of the President's schedule and the de facto gatekeeper for information being presented the President, Michael held his peace while Regan worked through all the data he'd presented.

Finally, the hand dropped to the desktop with a solid _thunk_ and tired eyes met his. "Why is it Archangel that every time I deal with you and yours I end up with a headache? Why don't you and the Firm ever have simple problems – a coup, a little espionage, a good old fashion assassination attempt?"

"Sorry, sir. It's not my intention to be a problem."

Regan leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. "Do you have any idea of the political fallout that this could cause if the media got a whiff of it? Good God, it'd make Watergate look like a walk in the fucking park."

"Yes, sir."

"You want an official invite to this VIP fund raiser that Nelson is holding in three weeks?"

"Yes, sir. Two invites. One for Michael Coldsmith Briggs and a guest." Michael nodded towards the open folder laid out across Regan's desk. "My pertinent cover details are in the folder."

Silence fell between the two men before the Secretary abruptly sat forward in his chair. "You don't move on this without solid proof. The President _likes_ Nelson, Archangel. Do you understand what I'm saying? You get this wrong and it won't just be your career."

Michael nodded. "I understand. What do you want to do about the Attorney General's Office?"

"Let me handle that. I'll brief Ed personally. The fewer people who know about this for now the better. This has to be airtight before it hits the public and we need to have a solid handle on what gets said and what doesn't." Regan sighed. "I'll make some calls and see that you get the invites. Now, get out of my office."

Michael stood up. "Thank you." At a gesture to Caitlin, they both headed towards the door, Caitlin once again holding it open as Michael stepped through.

The two Secret Security agents were stationed outside the door and silently escorted them out of the West Wing.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Getting back in the limo, Caitlin thought Michael might bring back up the gossip about Nelson, but he had a small frown between his eyes that she could just see over the bridge of his glasses and his finger had once again started to tap against his lower lip. Over the last few days, she'd actually come to recognize that look. He was thinking hard about something. Wordlessly, she opened his briefcase and pulled out the Luis folder and passed it over to him along with three different colored pens.

She almost laughed when he took them with an absent-minded murmur of thanks before diving back into the reports. When he let out a soft, but rather pleased, "Aha" some fifteen minutes later, she knew that he'd found whatever it was that he'd thought of.

As he was re-reading, the limo pulled smoothly up to the front doors of the Washington Hotel. Her grin widened as Michael didn't seem to notice. She pitched her voice to be smoothly professional. "I believe we are here, sir."

When Michael looked up, she held out her hand for the files, grin now firmly held in check.

He made a face at her. "You've enjoyed doing that entirely too much today."

"Probably," she agreed as she stowed the files.

A few minutes later and they were back in their rooms, or at least Michael's room.

"Where you able to steer the conversation around to Governor Nelson?" Michael asked, coming back to their aborted conversation from the limo.

"Actually, yes." Caitlin plopped down onto the couch to pull off first one and then the other boot, groaning as she scrunched her toes into the carpet. "He and his presidential aspirations are quite the ongoing topic."

Michael frowned. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm just not used to wearing heels and I've been wearing them a lot the last couple of days."

Michael took a seat at the other end of the small couch. "Give me your foot."

"What?"

He made a 'come here' gesture with his fingers. "Foot."

Feeling a little confused, she swung her legs up on the couch, being conscious of her skirt.

Sliding backwards on the small sofa so that her feet could rest in his lap comfortably, Michael picked up her foot running the back of his fingernail up her sole. "Hey!" She jerked her foot backwards at the tickling sensation, but he held on.

His expression was one of studied innocence. "Just seeing how ticklish you were." His expression slid to something a little less innocent. "Looks like the answer is: very."

He raised his other hand again.

"Don't you dare," she warned.

"You don't want me to do this?" He dug his thumb into the arch of her foot and Caitlin couldn't hold in her groan of pleasure.

That devastating little smirk was back, but Caitlin didn't care.

"So what do they have to say?"

"What?" Caitlin was sure Michael had asked her something but her brain refused to acknowledge anything past the point of Michael's warm palm cradling her foot while his thumb continued to dig into her arch in slow circles.

He lightened the pressure just slightly. "The scoop on Nelson?"

"Nelson . . ." The pressure increased again as it slid down towards her heel. "Oh, God."

The movement of his hand stopped and Caitlin's brain caught up with what she'd just said. Her face flushed with heat, she raised her eyes to find Michael staring at her. She flushed again, but gathered up the tattered remains of her dignity along with her courage. She flexed her toes. "This is going to sound wrong, but I'm going to say it anyway. Don't you dare stop."

The intensity of his gaze lightened as he a laughed, his thumb continuing the delicious torture.

As that magical thumb dug back into the arch of her foot, she concentrated on telling what she knew. "Nelson's reputation on the Hill is fairly solid. He's liked and generally respected. There's a core group of both congressmen and senators that seem to be backing him. Not to mention, he's well respected on Wall Street and amongst the business sector."

He put her foot down before tapping the ankle of her other foot. She obediently lifted it up into his hands. "Anything negative?"

She hummed slightly in contentment as he hit just the right spot. "Rumors of rumors mostly. He seems a little too well connected for some people and there is some speculation on where he's getting his information. He's been in the right place with the right knowledge just a few times to many. Insiders don't like when other people seem to have better insider sources."

Michael nodded, his gaze focused on Caitlin's scarlet painted toes. "If Zeus is 'helping' Nelson that could explain any information or influence the Senator has. Zeus's resources would be much more varied than anything a Governor could get hold of and in this city, knowledge most definitely equates to power."

Michael flicked her big toe. "There you go."

Caitlin swung her feet back down to the carpet. "Thank you. That felt wonderful."

He gave her a tired smile. "Just returning the favor of that back rub." He pushed himself up from the couch. "Are you hungry? We've missed dinner but should be able to order something from the hotel's late menu. It won't be anything fancy though."

Getting to her feet, Caitlin shook her head. "Lunch was filling enough. Just order me a Caesar salad or something along those lines." She glanced down at her still pristine white suit. "I'm going to go change before I get anything on this. I can't believe I've made it through the day without a single smudge. Oh, and I'm going to call the airport and make sure that the Cessna is ready for our flight back in the morning. We'll have to leave early to make our stopover in Colorado at a decent time." Grabbing up her boots, she headed towards the open doorway between the rooms. "Back in bit."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

There was a chill bite to the air as Caitlin headed for the hanger. The jacket she had brought for what was supposed to be a long weekend in Texas was proving to be woefully inadequate for their stopover in Colorado. She was surprised to find Michael standing just outside the door, gazing off into the distance.

"Aren't you cold?" she called as she approached, hands rubbing her arms briskly to warm them.

His startle at the sound of her voice once again reminded her that no matter how accustomed she was to seeing Michael in those glasses, they did leave him at a disadvantage. "Another reason for wearing layers." With a faint smile, he started to take off his jacket, presumably to let her borrow it.

"No, don't." She waved him off. "I don't know about you, but I'm going inside. What's so interesting, anyhow?" she asked, when he turned to join her.

"Just the mountains," he answered, holding the door for her.

She glanced behind her as she went inside. The snow-covered peaks were pretty, glistening in the late day sun, but she really didn't understand the fascination. Caitlin led Michael into the pilot's lounge. The driver of the "follow me" car that had shown her where to park the Cessna had offered to bring their bags in for them. Normally, Caitlin would have carried her own, but Michael had handed his over without hesitation, and so she'd allowed their bags to be packed into the little red Volkswagen. "Why don't you wait here while I tend to the paperwork and find out where we collect our luggage?"

Michael nodded. "I'll call for our car."

A quick stop at the desk set up fueling for the next morning, and she located the pickup area for their bags. Returning to the lounge, she found Michael standing off to the side. Most of the room had been taken over by a group that was waiting to take off; half a dozen boisterous kids. _Young adults_ , Caitlin corrected herself, noting that they really weren't that much younger than she was. All were carrying skis and poles.

"Ready, Michael?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Our car will be here in a few minutes."

"We might as well get our bags, then." She eyed him curiously. This time she hadn't approached from his blind side, and yet she'd still surprised him.

The car that arrived to pick them up was a stretched Lincoln. "So where are we staying?" Caitlin asked, after they were on their way. Michael had been oddly quiet ever since they had landed and she hoped to draw him out.

"The Garden of the Gods."

She couldn't quite translate that. "Eden? Is that a town?"

That did, finally, earn her an amused quirk of his brow. "No. Quite literally, 'The Garden of the Gods.' That's the name of the lodge."

Caitlin laughed. "I gather you couldn't find a hotel named 'Heaven,' then?"

That brought an answering chuckle, but it seemed forced. Something was definitely bothering him, but she wasn't sure what. _Maybe going over the information he'd learned in Washington or preparing for the intricacies of dealing with the committee upon his return to Thousand Oaks?_

The rest of the ride was in silence as Caitlin left him to his thoughts. She knew he'd talk if he wanted to. The sun was setting, obscuring much of what Caitlin knew was beautiful scenery. Finally, the limo slowed, and Caitlin saw the sign. Michael hadn't been kidding about the name.

"I thought we could check in then get something to eat. Um, Cait, given the short notice, there was only one suite available. It has two bedrooms. I didn't think you'd mind?"

 _Was that what was bothering him? Was he wondering how she'd react?_ "Of course I don't mind."

The limo pulled up to the front entrance to disgorge them. The lodge was impressive, with stone, heavy timbers and lots of glass. Michael went to the front desk to check in while she kept an eye on the bellboy bringing in their bags.

A few minutes later, they had made their way to their suite. Two bedrooms, each with their own bath and walk-in closet, a kitchen, dining area and what would pass for a living room. Beautiful fireplaces and balconies that during the day would offer a wonderful view of the surrounding landscape completed the room. Caitlin wished her apartment was half as nice - or even just half as big.

"Would you rather go down to the dining room or call room service?" Michael asked.

Normally, she would have chosen the dining room, but she'd seen the note about "proper attire" and despite Michael's additions to her wardrobe, she was about out of clean clothes. "Would you mind if we ate here?" She knew Michael wouldn't object to her wearing jeans.

"Of course not. There's a menu on the desk."

She took a look, cringing at the prices. _Maybe just a salad._

"Two words, Cait," Michael said. He was hanging up the vest and jacket he'd just shed.

"Which two?"

"Expense account."

 _Damn. She really did wish that he'd stop reading her mind._ "In that case, the prime rib sounds good."

"We never did make it to the steak place down in Odessa, did we?" He'd joined her, and was looking over her shoulder at the menu. "You're right, the prime rib does sound good. How do you take yours?"

"Rare."

That brought a bit of a grin, one of the few she'd seen since they landed. "Blood thirsty, are you?"

"If you plan to sit there and 'moo' at me while I eat, I'll order something else." _She got more than enough of that from String._

"Wouldn't dream of it." He picked up the phone and called in their order. Two prime ribs, both rare.

While they waited for dinner to arrive, Michael lit a fire in the fireplace and poured them both wine from the bar. It was nice. Comfortable, and maybe a little romantic.

Their dinner came via an elaborate rolling heater box, the attendant setting up their meal on the dining table. Caitlin had wondered if the meat would be cold or overcooked by the time it was delivered, but it was delicious. After they had finished eating, Michael called downstairs for someone to come and collect their dishes.

The woman that came to the door gave Michael an odd look when he opened it. Caitlin caught her glancing at him again as she cleared the table; a look that was almost but not quite recognition. After she'd taken the dishes and gone, Caitlin figured it out.

"You've been here before, haven't you?" she asked, swirling the last of the wine in her glass.

Michael had taken up a position on the sofa, nursing his own glass. He stared at the wine glass in a way that suggested he wasn't really seeing it at all. "Yes, a number of times. Not for a few years, though." He hesitated. "I didn't expect to find myself here again."

The distant, somber mood that he'd been in earlier had returned, making Caitlin wish she hadn't asked. She frowned as the pieces began to lock themselves into place. The way he'd stared at the mountains when they landed, his distraction back at the airport lounge. His mood, and the marked lack of his usual sense of humor. "Skier?"

He finally looked at her, one eyebrow slightly cocked. "I _was_. My family had a house up here when I was younger. My stepfather made a point of bringing everyone up here at least once a season. Even after he died and the family split apart, I used to come out here at least once or twice a year, if only for a weekend. Breckenridge is only a couple hours away."

She swallowed around the hard lump in her throat. If she'd had any idea, she never would have dragged him down that rabbit hole. "You should have said something. We could have refueled somewhere else."

His shoulders twitched in an almost invisible shrug. "Memories lurk in a great many places. If I set out to avoid them all, I'd never leave Knightsbridge. I knew the lodge was top quality. No reason not to come here. That said, I'm sorry I'm not better company tonight. A little self-pity mixed with nostalgia, I guess."

"If anyone's entitled, I think you are." He'd been shot up by Airwolf, drugged, and tortured. He'd watched a woman that he had loved die - twice. All that had been while he held what should have been a relatively safe position as Deputy Director. _What the hell must his life have been like when he was in the field?_ She circled to sit down on the sofa beside him, her hand slowly stroking his shoulder, almost of its own volition.

"When I'm reminded of the past, sometimes the 'what-ifs' are hard to ignore. That day in Spain, as we left the hotel, Jack forgot his wallet. He went up to the room to get it. Stopped on the way back to talk to a girl in the lobby. It probably delayed us a good fifteen minutes. If he hadn't forgotten that wallet. . . . " He shook his head. "That damn wallet cost him his life, and, well. . . I wonder, sometimes. How different life would have been."

"You would have made a lousy lawyer."

He raised a brow. "Thanks."

She laughed. "I meant that as a compliment. I don't think you'd be very good at defending someone you knew was guilty."

That brought a single, quick laugh. "Probably not."

"You like to hide it, but you are an honorable man." Caitlin had come to realize that the man beside her was a tangled mix of Michael and Archangel, but she had no doubt that right now, he was all Michael. Archangel might be able to slough off everything that had happened to him, but underneath it all, Michael was hurting, and had been for a long time.

Impetuously, she twisted, turning toward him. Her hand slid behind his neck, pulling him down toward her until their lips met.

He didn't fight it, letting her kiss him. Finally needed to breath, she pulled back. "Take me to bed," she whispered.

His face clouded. "Cait, I can't. We've talked-"

"Michael, the committee is eight hundred miles away. They don't need to know."

"It wouldn't be fair to you."

"I'm a big girl, Michael." _It wasn't the first time she had said it. The difference was, the first time, she had actually believed it._ Pushing down her own emotions, she gave him a smile. "What happens in Colorado stays in Colorado."

He reached up, the back of his fingers stroking her cheek. "Damn it, Cait, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." He wasn't going to hurt her. _He wouldn't._ The Firm, the committee, and fate itself perhaps, but not Michael.

"Screw it." She heard his faint whisper before he pulled her into his lap.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

It was the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom windows that woke Caitlin. She couldn't see the clock without moving, but she could tell it was late. Later, at any rate, than they had intended to get started. When they'd gone to bed, neither of them had been thinking about setting an alarm.

Michael was still asleep. Now laying on his stomach and using her as his pillow, he was splayed halfway across her. When she'd briefly woken during the night, he'd been on his back, lightly snoring. She wondered if she could get away with teasing him about that.

Watching him sleep, she wanted to touch him. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and let them trail down his back. She wanted to feel the muscles and the strength that lay beneath the scarred skin. Knowing that it would wake him, she forced herself to be content with worrying the edge of the blanket.

The night had begun on the couch, but hadn't stayed there long. The lodge's oversized, feather-bedded mattress had been even more comfortable and cozy than Michael's own. The fireplace burning in the outer suite had provided warmth as well as flickering light that had cast bouncing shadows on the bedroom walls.

It had been subtly different this time. Unlike the nearly frantic, tension and adrenalin-fueled sex they'd shared in the past, this had been slow and focused with an emotional undercurrent that she hesitated to name. At one point, as Michael's body had moved over hers, he'd gripped her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. Just thinking of it now made her stomach flutter. It had felt, for want of a better way to put it, like making love, not like simple unencumbered intercourse. _She had no doubt that this time, she'd been sleeping with Michael, not Archangel, not even some amalgamation of the two._

Regardless of what she had told him, big girl or not, trying to be "just friends" was going to hurt. She would do it, because she had to and because that was what he needed from her going forward - just as much as this once he had needed the opposite. She wasn't going to regret that.

For one short moment, she allowed herself to wonder what would happen between them if the committee and the Firm were out of the picture, and Michael was free to do as he chose. But then, that line of thinking was as non-productive as Michael's questions regarding where he'd be if Jack hadn't gone back to retrieve his wallet. _Things simply were what they were, and there was no changing them._

She was just deciding if she should wake him when Michael stirred. A quick grimace crossed his face as he moved, more asleep than awake, and then his eyes opened. It was still startling, the contrast of blue and white, although the more she saw him without the glasses, the more she was becoming accustomed to it.

Guilt washed across his face as he rolled off of her. "Cait-"

She cut him off. "Don't. Don't say it, don't think it. Last night was lovely, but it was last night. Today's another day. No second guessing and no regrets."

To his credit, he didn't argue, instead giving her a half smile. "Let me guess. You're a big girl."

"Yep. All grown up." He had moved enough that she could see the clock. It was even later than she'd thought. "We overslept."

Michael shrugged. "I wasn't planning to go in to Knightsbridge until tomorrow, but one of us had better let Dom know. He'll be looking for his Cessna."

"I'll call him before we leave." Suddenly and inexplicably modest, she sat up, pulling the blankets up in front of her chest. "I guess we'd better get dressed and get going."

He slid out of bed, apparently sharing none the issues she had with nudity. "Be right back." He went into the bathroom. Several minutes later, he returned wearing a white robe and handed her another. "One of the perks this place offers," he explained.

She slipped into the robe. "I'll go shower and get dressed, then."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Michael had the television on, checking the day's headlines when Caitlin joined him in the outer suite. She was barefoot, and her still damp-from-the-shower hair appeared darker than its true color. He thought she was beautiful and then quickly pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

"Anything exciting on the news?" she asked.

"Gaddafi stirring trouble again. I imagine I'll be dealing with Libya when I get back." Once again he was reminded how lucky the world was that Hawke had succeeded in getting Airwolf out of Gaddafi's clutches. "I made coffee." He shut off the television.

Out of sight in the kitchen, he could hear her rattling the pot as she poured herself a cup. A minute later she appeared, setting her steaming cup on the desk. She sat down, reaching for the phone. "I'm going to call Dom. What do you think, we should get back around one?"

He glanced at his watch, then nodded. That would give them time to get something to eat and drive out to the airport.

She picked up the phone and dialed. "Hey Dom," she said, tucking the receiver between shoulder and ear. There was a pause as she listened. "Still in Colorado Springs."

Michael couldn't hear the other end of the call, beyond what might have been a few curse words in Italian. Cait pulled her ear back slightly from the phone. "Yes, I know. We're just getting a late start this morning. . . .No, it's not his fault, I just overslept. . . .Dom, not everything is Michael's fault, you know. We should be back around one. . . .Yes, this afternoon, not tonight." She rolled her eyes. "My mother? Four times? Is everything alright? Oh heck, I forgot to call her. . . .I just got sidetracked. . . .Yes, I know. . . .Yes, I will. . . .Yes, I promise, as soon as I get off the phone with you. Okay, Dom, tell String I'm sorry. I'll see you later."

Hanging up the phone, Caitlin groaned. "Maybe I will trade for your family. At least they don't have a royal conniption just because you don't call for a few days."

He chuckled. "You're welcome to them. I take it that your mother has been looking for you?"

"She called the hanger four times. The last time Dom was out and String had to stop and answer the phone while he was in the middle of an oil change. I don't think he's very happy with me at the moment."

"Hawke will get over it, but you had better call your mother and let her know you haven't been waylaid by bandits." He glanced at her nearly empty coffee cup. The coffee maker the lodge provided was a small one that barely made two cups. "I'm going to go down and get us some more coffee. Would you like anything else?"

"A muffin, maybe? Blueberry, if they have it."

"Blueberry muffin, got it." He already knew how she took her coffee. "Now call your mother before we both get in trouble."

She laughed. "Nah, Dom blames you, she just blames me. I might as well call from the bedroom so I can finish getting dressed while she nags."

Chuckling, Michael rose to head for the door. "I'll be back in a few."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Juggling the cardboard carrier holding their coffee, a bag of pastries, and a newspaper. Michael opened the door to the suite and quietly let himself in. He set everything down on the table. Caitlin was nowhere in sight, which led him to assume she was still on the phone, an assumption that was confirmed when he heard her voice from the other room. "I know, Ma. . . I should have called. . . I'm sorry, I got tied up with a charter that got extended and I just forgot."

He unfolded the paper and pulled out the section with national news, placing it on the top of the pile.

"Ma, sometimes work is more important than dating." It wasn't his intention to listen in, but Caitlin's voice had climbed an octave, and he could hear her clearly. "A girl does have to support herself, you know."

There was no mistaking the exasperation in Caitlin's voice, and Michael smiled as he started to peruse an article about the increasing tensions in the Middle East. "Just because Margaret is getting married and going to quit her job doesn't mean that's what I want. I like being independent. I love my job."

The conversation in the other room fell silent until Caitlin's voice caught his attention again. "You aren't hearing anything in my voice, Ma." Silence. Then, "Fine. There is someone. Someone . . . no, not him." Her voice dropped to something wistful. "If things were different, I could fall hard for this one, but - it's not to be. Because it's complicated. _He's_ complicated." Caitlin let out a ragged laugh. "No, Ma, he's not married, well, not unless being married to his job counts."

Something like elation lit up Michael's heart. _She felt the same_. Right on its heels, despair hit just as hard. _It can't happen_.

 _Oh, hell._ He had convinced himself that Caitlin was telling him the truth about being a big girl, and that he was the only one getting emotionally entangled. His own bruised heart he could live with. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, but now he knew he was destined to.

"Ma, we can talk about this some other time. I really do have to go."

 _Damn. If she found him sitting there, she would know that he had overheard her._ He grabbed the two cups and the bag he had brought in and quietly let himself out of the suite.

Standing in the hallway outside, he leaned against the door. This had to stop. This had to stop now, before either of them got in any deeper. They would be back in LA in a few hours and then he had to stay away from her completely. Let her go back to Hawke and Santini and Airwolf.

Steeling himself, he opened the door again. Once inside, he slammed it hard enough that it announced his return with an audible thud. Caitlin was just coming out of the bedroom. "Did they have blueberry?" she asked.

"What?" It took him a moment to process her words. "Oh, yes." He brought the pastries and coffee over to the table, only then realizing that he'd left the newspaper there. He forced himself to ignore it, hoping it wouldn't register with her that it hadn't been there earlier.

Joining him at the table, she frowned for a moment, then shrugged and opened the bag to take out her muffin.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Not for the first time, Caitlin glanced over at the empty co-pilot's seat beside her. When they had taken off from Colorado Springs, Michael had chosen to take a seat in the back. At the time she had assumed he had work to do and needed the space to spread out, but every time she looked back over her shoulder, he was looking out of the window, an expression on his face that she couldn't quite decipher. It was both like and unlike the distanced longing he'd wore when thinking about what if's and long ago ski trips.

She knew it was possible that his leg was bothering him. He'd spent a fair amount of time on it in Washington, and it could be he was taking advantage of the aisle to stretch out, but she really didn't think that was it. Since that first night when he had come back to her apartment, she'd taken a more active interest in watching him. After awhile, she'd noticed a pattern. The limp was always there, but when his leg was acting up, it was subtly different. Not necessarily more pronounced, but different, as if he was supporting his weight using different muscles. Today that wasn't the case. Nor did she think their activities the night before had aggravated it.

As they neared Las Vegas, with roughly an hour of flight time remaining, her patience finally gave out. They needed to talk now, while they had privacy. She turned her head to look toward the rear of the plane. "Michael, could you come up here, please?"

A minute later he appeared, leaning over the back of the co-pilot's seat. He glanced at his watch. "If you're about to tell me we're almost to LA, then we must have picked up one hell of a tail wind."

"No. Actually, we're approaching Vegas. I just wanted to talk." _That sounded so much better than "I missed you."_

"What's on your mind?" He remained where he was, still leaning on the seat, as if intending to flee the second he got the chance.

 _What the hell?_ "Michael, sit. Please."

He did as she asked, sliding carefully into the seat beside her. _Bossy._ She could hear the word in her mind, even though he didn't say it. The fact that he didn't was yet another indication that there was something seriously amiss. "Michael, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just a little preoccupied. Planning how I'm going to pull off this op without Zeus getting wind of it."

She wasn't sure she believed that. She chanced a glance at him, but found that he was staring straight ahead, leaving his expression hidden behind those glasses. For the moment at least, she decided to take him at his word. "Michael, I want in."

That did get him to look over at her. "In?"

"I want to be part of this. Taking Luis down. I want to be your guest at that fundraiser."

His expression darkened. "No."

Anger flashed through her. "What do you mean, no? If it wasn't for me there'd be no operation. I'm the one who figured out your brother had been murdered."

"I thank you for that, but the answer is still no."

She fought down her anger. Emotional outbursts wouldn't sway Michael and certainly wouldn't sway Archangel. She needed logic and cold analytics. "Michael, I may not know much about the rarefied worlds of the super rich, but you don't go to those types of parties by yourself, especially as a single man. It will be expected for you to have a woman on your arm – someone younger and totally infatuated with both you and your supposed money. A good undercover agent wouldn't call attention to himself by deviating from what others expect to see."

His chuckle was cold and devoid of humor. "You've been paying attention in those Firm training classes, I see. But, I don't need you to be my arm candy, Caitlin. I have plenty of agents to choose from. I don't want you involved."

She bit her lip. "You don't think I can pull it off." Maybe he was right. She wasn't sure she could quite picture herself rubbing elbows with billionaires.

His voice finally softened. "It's not that, Cait."

"Then what is it? Are you trying to protect me? Is that it? Damn it, Michael. I put up with enough of that from String and Dom. I don't need it from you too."

"It's not the way you think."

"Which means?"

He didn't answer, merely shaking his head.

Caitlin tried to put it together. He'd been acting oddly since they'd got on the plane. _No, before that. Ever since they'd left the hotel._ So what had happened? An image came to her, something she'd barely noticed at the time, that hadn't really registered. The newspaper lying open on the table when Michael had returned with their coffee. It hadn't been there when he left. It had somehow appeared afterwards. _While she was in the bedroom, on the phone with her mother, talking about. . . ._

"You overheard me on the phone this morning."

He let out a long sigh, finally turning to look at her. "You'd make a damn fine intelligence agent."

"There's not enough bleach on the planet for me to wear white full time." She hesitated, a curl of embarrassment heating her stomach. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough. Enough to know that this. . . that what's gone on between the two of us. . . it went far further . . . went deeper than it should have." He turned away from her again, speaking to the dashboard and the expanse of sky outside the cockpit window. "I take the blame for that. It's my fault. I knew . . . I should have stopped it. It's not fair to you."

"No one ever said life was fair." If it was, he wouldn't be wearing nearly as many scars.

"Regardless, it ends. Now, before. . . . " He shook his head. "Once we land, I won't be seeing you again unless it's in the company of Hawke and Santini and it's regarding a mission. I appreciate your assistance to date, but effective immediately, you'll no longer be involved with this operation."

Caitlin ground her teeth, uncertain whether she was more furious with him or with herself for being stupid enough to let him overhear her. _Him_ , she decided. _Definitely him._ "Bastard," she muttered, almost under her breath.

He had slid from co-pilot's seat to return to the rear of the plane. "I've never claimed to be anything else."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

 ** _Author's Note:_** Halfway through posting the story. I do hope that everyone is enjoying it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 9**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

Sitting behind Dom's desk in the Santini Air office, Hawke was working his way through a pile of neglected fuel receipts. If Dom had a failing, it was that he hated to do paperwork. The Italian had, in fact, gone off to LAX to pick up parts from a vendor who had offered to deliver. Dom had claimed that he wanted to be sure that what they received was the right model number, but Hawke suspected it was only an excuse to leave him to deal with the receipts.

 _Of course, if Caitlin wasn't busy flying Michael around the country. . ._ Hawke's thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of the Cessna's engines. _About time._

Pushing the stack of papers to one side, Hawke stood and went outside to await the plane's arrival. Soon after, the Cessna taxied to a halt on the ramp. Once the engines had shut down, the hatch opened and stairs were lowered. A moment later, Caitlin came marching down the steps. She threw open the forward compartment and pulled out two bags, one the overnight case she usually carried and a second, more expensive one Hawke had never seen before. Yanking the strap over her shoulder, she stormed past him, going straight to her Datsun.

"Cait?"

"If I were you, I'd let her go."

Hawke turned back toward the plane to find Michael calmly removing his own bags from the still-open compartment. Hawke glanced toward Caitlin again; she had stowed her bags in the back of her car and was headed into the hanger, her back stiff and anger fairly radiating off her. _Probably a bad time to mention the fuel receipts._

He walked out to where Michael was putting his luggage into his own car. "Care to tell me what that was all about?"

Michael gave him a look, one that said he didn't really want to answer the question. "Difference of opinion."

Hawke noted that unlike Caitlin, Michael didn't actually seem to be angry. _Curious._ He considered the reason Michael had hired the aircraft in the first place. A family funeral, and what Michael had hinted were complicated family dynamics. He could see Caitlin poking her nose into that – and he could just as clearly envision Michael insisting she butt out, which would undoubtedly go over like a lead balloon. Hawke glanced in the direction Caitlin had gone. "Meddling?"

Hand on the trunk lid, about to close it, Michael paused. "I suppose you could say that."

"She means well."

"I know that." Slamming the trunk shut, Michael sighed. "I may have been a bit harsh."

"Give her some time to cool off. She'll get over it."

Michael said nothing, instead looking toward the office. Finally, he seemed to shake himself. "I need to check in with Knightsbridge. Would you have Santini send me a bill?"

Hawke nodded. As Michael climbed into the Mercedes and pulled away, Hawke headed back towards the Cessna.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Twenty minutes later when Hawke returned to the office, Caitlin was surrounded by piles of neat, paper-clipped receipts, the company ledger and a calculator. "Making any headway?" he asked.

She glanced back at him. "If Dom would sort these when they came in. . . " She moved some of the papers into a different pile. "I'll go out and tie down the Cessna when I get done here."

"I already took care of it."

"Oh, thanks." She looked up at him in such surprise that he felt he ought to be a little peeved. _He could be considerate when he wanted to be._

Hawke sat down on the edge of the desk, careful not to dislodge anything. He was curious about her mood and wasn't quite sure how to approach it. "Michael must have quite the family."

"His mother is a peach and his twelve year old niece is the brains of the family. The rest? I think I'd take the chain guns to the lot of them." Caitlin was, Hawke noticed, paying more attention to the calculator than she was to him.

"Did you tell him that?"

"Actually, I think I suggested a missile or two in the swimming pool, and he pretty much agreed with me." He didn't miss the soft smile that curled Caitlin's lips before she suddenly scowled.

 _So what was she so upset over, then? Had the falling out happened during the side trip to Washington?_ Curiouser and curiouser. _Well, there was always the direct approach._ "So what's the deal with you and him?"

Caitlin looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

That certainly struck a nerve. "You weren't happy when you landed."

"Oh, that." She flicked her hand, as if brushing off a minor annoyance. "I don't like people trying to tell me what's best for me."

That was a sure-fire way to annoy Caitlin, but there was something else there in her voice that set his instincts on edge. "Is this about you and Airwolf?" He could picture the agent trying to convince Caitlin to give up her position on Airwolf's crew so that he could have one of his own people replace her. If that was what Michael was up to, he would have the agent's hide.

"No." She shook her head before she let out a small sigh. "Hawke, I really don't want to talk about it."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay." From what he could see, she had cooled off a little, but she was still angry. The fact that she'd called him "Hawke" rather than "String" told him that much. He knew he wouldn't get anything more out of her by pushing too hard. Abruptly, he remembered the two suitcases she'd taken out to her car. He was fairly certain she hadn't taken that many clothes just for what was initially supposed to be a long weekend.

"Are you planning to finish those up?" Hawke asked, letting the topic go as he gestured towards the paperwork that littered the desk.

"I figured I might as well. I didn't see anything on the board when I came in. You have something else for me?"

"No, that's fine." He checked his watch. "Dom should be back soon with the parts for that tail rotor. I'd better go out so I can give him a hand with it. Do you need anything?"

She surveyed the desk. "No, I'm good."

Hawke left the office, closing the door behind him. As he walked out through the hanger, he dug his keys out of his pocket. Caitlin had given him a set of spare keys to her car shortly after she'd started working at Santini Air. Supposedly, it was in case he needed to move her car while she was out flying, but Hawke suspected the real reason might have had more to do with a fear of locking herself out of the Datsun.

Walking over to her car, he stared down at the keys in his hand, weighing his options, weighing his sense of guilt over his curiosity versus his distrust of Michael and the Firm. If Michael was trying to threaten or coerce Caitlin . . . his fingers clenched around the keys in anger.

The key slid easily into the lock, and Hawke lifted the rear hatch of the Datsun. He tugged open the zipper on the larger suitcase, the one he hadn't seen before.

Clothes. While Hawke was by no means an expert on fashion, he could tell the difference between clothes that came from the local department store and those that came from some fancy upscale boutique, and these were definitely the latter. Well, she had been hanging around with Michael, and it wasn't hard to guess what sort of circles he ran in. If she was going to fit in. . . . Trying not to disturb things too much, he thumbed through the garments, trying not to think about why there was so much white.

His hand landed on something solid, and he pulled the fabric back to see what it was. A boot. A white leather boot. The same sort of boot that many of Michael's aides wore.

Hawke rezipped the suitcase, and closed the car's hatch, reigning in his temper so he didn't slam the trunk in anger. Michael was going to have some explaining to do.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

It was almost nine when Caitlin's doorbell rang. For one brief moment she considered ignoring it. She really didn't feel like talking to anyone, and she strongly suspected that String was the one standing outside her door. He hadn't been happy with her brushing him off earlier and he'd given her strange looks the rest of afternoon until she'd finally called it a day and headed home. The doorbell rang again, two sharp rings. _Definitely String._ She could almost hear the impatience in its mechanical chime. Shutting off the television, she rolled off the couch and went to open the door.

Michael stood there, leaning on his cane, his attention seemingly focused on her doorstep. Before Caitlin could decide whether to slam the door in his face, he looked up, meeting her gaze. "May I come in?"

She didn't want to let him in, didn't want to hear whatever he had to say. But some spark of pride made her open the door wider. Not quite trusting herself to speak, she stepped back, allowing him to pass. She expected him to head for the living room, but instead he went into the kitchen and lowered himself into one of the chairs that bookended her tiny table. He let out a long sigh. "Cait. . . ."

Some of her ire had slowly dissipated in the hours since she'd landed the Cessna, but now it came bubbling back. Too angry to sit, she leaned back against the sink, her arms folded across her chest. "Let me guess," she said, letting all the bitterness she was feeling bleed into her voice. "You don't want me flying any more Airwolf missions, either."

He shook his head once. "I'd never ask that of you."

She didn't understand and his expression was giving away nothing of his thoughts or feelings. "Then what? Why are you here?" She pushed away from the counter, taking a tiny step towards him, her hands clenched into fists at her side.

"To apologize." He toyed absently with the head of his cane. "In trying to be fair to you, I made matters infinitely worse. My misguided attempt to keep you from being hurt only served to cause you more pain."

This was a side of him she'd never seen before. _Apologetic. Contrite._ There was a part of her that wanted to take him in her arms and tell him he was forgiven, but there was a bigger part that was still fuming. It wasn't helping that she didn't understand why he'd acted the way he had. "Was what I said to my mother really that horrible?"

The expressionless mask he was wearing cracked a little as something like sadness, or maybe regret, flittered across his face. "No, but I know how it feels to care for someone that you can't have."

The last flickering flame of her anger snuffed itself out. That damned lump had found its way back into her throat again. "That woman you went into Germany after."

"Cait," he began, his voice so soft she could barely hear him, "I wasn't talking about Maria."

Someone else, then. Someone he couldn't . . . someone the Firm wouldn't allow him to . . . someone . . . oh. _Oh, hell._ She grabbed the second chair and pulled it out from beneath the table, dropping into it as her knees threatened to buckle. "Michael?"

He leaned forward in the chair, resting his weight on his cane as he gave her a half smile. "How did we ever get ourselves into this mess?"

"It's all your fault." She caught his flinch at her words and realized that he did indeed blame himself. _Foolish man._ "If you weren't so damned adorable, I would have been able to resist your charms."

Michael looked up sharply then grinned as he realized she was teasing him. "Adorable, huh?"

Caitlin nearly laughed to see a faint blush stain his fair skin.

"I've been called a lot of things in my life, but I think that's a first."

The last of the tension between them had evaporated, leaving in its wake an aching longing. The urge to reach out and touch him was almost overwhelming. He was sitting no more than a foot away from her and yet it could have been a hundred miles. Surging up out of the chair before she did something they couldn't take back, Caitlin crossed the kitchen to silently snag a pair of beers from the refrigerator. She passed one to Michael before retreating back to the safety of the counter. She didn't trust herself or her control right now. "It's not exactly a bottle of String's fancy wine."

He twisted off the top and tilted the bottle in her direction. "The company more than makes up for the lack of a French label."

She ducked her head down, hiding her own blush at his words. _God, what this man could do to her_. "What are we going to do?"

He blew out a shuddered breath. "Damned if I know. Trying to cut myself off from you didn't go over very well." As he said the last, he had the grace to look a bit sheepish.

"Yeah, well, don't you dare ever do that again. It was a thousand times worse than having to sit on my hands because I want to. . . ."

He nodded. "Noted."

They sipped their beers in silence and Caitlin wondered if this was how it would be between them now, both of them caught somewhere between being friends and being something more. Taking one last sip, she set her bottle down on the counter with a clink that sounded loud in the small kitchen. "Luis."

"What?"

"We're not done with . . . with the other. Don't think we are. But that's for later. Now, we need to talk about Luis."

"Cait-"

She shook her head. "I'm going to that fund raiser with you."

That expressionless mask he was so good at slid over his face but she could see the suddenly white knuckled grip on his beer bottle. "It makes sense for me to go. You know it does."

He set his bottle carefully on the table. "It's just. . . I don't know if I want you walking into that hornet's nest."

Caitlin felt her ire returning. "I thought we had an understanding about that. I have enough trouble with Dom and String getting all protective of me, I don't need it from you."

"It was far easier to agree with you before."

His expression was conflicted and she felt for him, she did, but she also knew that she had to make this stand. "Don't prove them right, Michael."

"Who?"

"The committee. If this. . . " She broke off, not quite ready to use the word love for this fragile connection between them. "If this thing between us changes the way you treat me – the way you utilize one of your resources – then it justifies whatever they might do about it."

He considered that, and finally nodded slowly. "So, I guess I need to buy you a new dress."

Relief flowed through her at his words. "Yeah. And don't forget the shoes."

He chuckled at that. "It's always about the shoes."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Michael's intercom buzzed, and Lydia's voice came through the speaker. "Mr. Hawke is here to see you, Sir." He had to smile at Lydia's tone. Her words were ever so proper and respectful, but he could hear what the words didn't say. Lydia didn't like Hawke, and as the current keeper of his inner office, she took her duties as guardian very seriously.

He tapped the button, careful to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Thank you, Lydia. Please send him in."

Michael rose from his chair and crossed the room to stand beside the door. When Hawke had called asking to see him, Michael had heard the anger in the pilot's voice. He wasn't certain of the reason behind it, but after years of dealing with Hawke, he'd learned how best to channel and defuse his volatile moods. Michael was marginally taller than Hawke, and he wasn't above using whatever subtle psychological advantage that might give him.

"Michael–" Hawke didn't disappoint, growling his name even as he entered the inner office.

Shutting the door to close them off from Lydia and the rest of the Knightsbridge facility, Michael turned and led Hawke further into the office. He kept Hawke on his right side where he could watch him; Hawke had decked him once, and he had no intention of allowing it to happen again. Of course, that didn't mean that he couldn't bait Hawke for his own amusement. Sometimes the other man was entirely too easy. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Hawke? Is there a problem?"

"Yeah, there's a problem. I want to know what you think you're playing at?"

"Playing? I can assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about. Has something happened to Airwolf?"

"This isn't about Airwolf," he snapped.

That made Michael raise a brow. With Hawke it was _always_ about Airwolf. Letting a little bit of his own temper bleed through, he straightened slightly. "And I repeat, I still have no idea what you are talking about. If you have something to say, say it."

Hawke's eyes narrowed. "Caitlin was angry when you two came back from your little trip. Angry at you. So why don't you tell me why she came back with a nice new very white wardrobe.

He couldn't explain what deviltry made him say his next words, but he hoped Caitlin would forgive him. "She looks exquisite in white." He thought that Hawke might just take another swing at him.

"Is she working for you?" Hawke spat out the words. "Has she been working for you all along?"

Knowing he'd had his fun, he did the one thing guaranteed to throw Hawke off. Letting his body language deflate into something less belligerent, he began to laugh, even as he wondered how Hawke had found out about the clothes. He took a guess. "Does Cait know you've been going through her closet?"

Hawke didn't even bother to look chagrined, his posture still full of aggression. "You didn't answer my question."

Snorting in continuing amusement, Michael relaxed back onto the outer edge of his desk. "Assuming you're asking whether she's on my staff, then no. She's not. I hired Cait as a pilot, nothing more."

Advancing a step closer, Hawke jabbed a finger toward Michael's chest. "Then suppose you tell me what the hell she's doing with a pair of high-heeled white leather boots and a matching silk suit."

Michael sighed. He had wanted to put this off for a few more days, but Hawke wasn't going to give him that luxury. "Not here." His office was swept for electronic bugs on a regular basis and the walls were thick enough to be soundproof, but he wasn't comfortable discussing his plans for Luis at Knightsbridge. Not with Zeus's possible involvement. "Tomorrow evening at the hanger. You might as well arrange for Santini to be there, too. Six o'clock?"

It was obvious that Hawke didn't want to wait, but after a long hesitation, he nodded. "Six. We'll be expecting you." With that, he turned and left, using the same door through which he had entered.

Michael returned to his desk, and pulled an address book from his desk. The same information was on the computer, but the book was readily accessible, and would leave no trail that he'd checked. Copying Caitlin's number off onto a slip of paper, he tucked it into his pocket. He wouldn't call from the office, but once he left work, there was strategy that had to be discussed.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Hawke glanced over at the clock. It was after five thirty. He stifled a groan of frustration. Any other time, Caitlin would have been gone for at least an hour. This afternoon, she seemed to be on some sort of crazy cleaning binge. She had already swept and dusted the office, and was now wiping down the chairs with something that reeked of artificial lemon. "Dom's not paying you overtime for maid service, you know."

"I know. I'm just tired of this place looking like a pig sty. When I went to put my lunch in the refrigerator this morning I found science experiments that had been in there when I left for Texas."

Cait poked his foot, which was resting atop Dom's desk. "Move your feet. I want to clean this off."

He briefly considered refusing, but finally did as she'd asked. Intentionally picking a fight with her might be the easiest way to get her out of the office before Michael showed up, but in the two days since returning from Washington her mood had vastly improved, and he was hesitant to set her off again. That said, Hawke really did want to get her to leave before the agent arrived. He was contemplating how to do it when Dom joined them.

"You still here?" Dom asked, as he scrubbed the last traces of grease from his hands onto a shop rag.

"Just cleaning up." She finished wiping the desk off.

"Ain't it about time you went home?" The elder pilot lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of the desk. _Trust Dom to try the direct method._

Caitlin paused, the can of lemon scented spray still in her hand. "It almost sounds like you're trying to get rid of me."

Hawke hid his grin behind his hand. He could have told Dom it wasn't going to be that easy. "We're going to be leaving shortly."

"Yeah," Dom agreed. "A couple of the guys are meeting us. We're gonna go over to my place and play poker."

"And you didn't invite me?" Caitlin pouted.

"It's just a few guys, Cait. Stag party." As much as Hawke wanted to get rid of Cait, watching Dom dig himself deeper and deeper into the hole he'd started was rather amusing.

"Oh. So I should expect you two to be totally useless in the morning, then?"

Hawke missed whatever reply Dom made, as his sensitive hearing picked up the sound of an automobile pulling up outside. _Damn._

". . . if you think I'm picking up all the slack because you're hung over, then you've got another think-" Caitlin broke off as Michael came through the open doorway. "Hi, Michael. Are you going to the stag party, too?" she asked with a grin, showing none of the anger she'd exhibited on their return from Washington.

"Stag party?" he asked, raising a brow.

Caitlin shrugged, still smiling. "Dom tells me that he and String are meeting a couple guys then they're having a stag party at his place."

String could tell that Michael was clearly amused at Dom's discomfort. The corner of his mustache twitched. "Odd. The last time I spoke with Hawke, he seemed rather eager to see me. I made a special trip out here to brief him and Santini, but apparently they're not interested."

"Apparently not," Caitlin agreed, visibly fighting to keep a grin off her face.

 _Damn it, was Michael smirking?_ Hawke realized that he and Dom had been played, and his own good humor abruptly evaporated. "What the hell? Cait, you knew he was coming?" His gaze darted between a relaxed Cait and the still smirking Michael. "What happened to being mad at him?"

She shrugged, giving the agent a look that Hawke was unable to decipher, but that left him feeling uneasy. "We talked. He apologized. We talked some more. I'm over it."

Hawke fought the urge to grind his teeth as his anger spiked. When had they talked? Why was Caitlin talking to Michael without his knowledge? And when in the hell did Michael ever apologize? _About anything._ Hawke glanced over at Dom, only to find a puzzled and annoyed expression that likely mirrored his own. He turned his attention back to Cait, and jabbed a finger toward Michael. "You're working for him."

Caitlin rolled her eyes and huffed loudly. "Most definitely not. I swear, you're more paranoid than he is and he's the intelligence agent."

Michael's smirk, Hawke noted, widened into a delighted grin before he noticed Hawke's stare. His expression quickly shifted, but he was still pleased about something.

Caitlin let out a sigh. "This is going to take awhile." Caitlin pulled another chair over and pushed it in Michael's direction. She looked over at the agent pointedly and Hawke's unease magnified as he watched the two of them carry on an entire conversation without saying a word before Michael grumbled something under his breath and took the offered chair.

"Michael?" she prompted.

"I'll begin, and then you can continue, since you're the one who put the pieces together." Michael stroked a finger across his mustache, a habit Hawke knew signified Michael was gathering his thoughts, trying to decide on what to say and not say. "As you are aware, I hired Caitlin to fly me to Texas last week."

"You said you were going to a funeral," Dom said, eying him suspiciously. "Was that the truth?"

Michael nodded. "My brother William's. I . . . I wasn't notified until the last minute which is why I needed the charter flight. In explaining the abrupt nature of my trip to Caitlin, I told her about William and the automobile _accident_ that caused his death."

Hawke heard the extra emphasis on the word "accident" and looked to Cait, who was still standing in the corner of the small office. His unease was still there. Michael was cagey with information and even with the boredom of a four hour flight, Hawke couldn't picture Archangel opening up to Caitlin about something so personal as his brother's death.

When Michael didn't say anything more, Caitlin made a made a face that suggested she wasn't entirely comfortable continuing. But, at a look from him, she nodded her head and moved to perch on the corner of the desk, whether consciously or not taking the high ground. "Michael started telling me about William's death, and somehow the details of the supposed accident just didn't sound quite right. When I got down there and met the family and heard more about William. . . well, I became even more suspicious. I told Michael my thoughts, and he asked me if I'd be willing to help him look into it. He had the accident report pulled and I went over it. We drove out to the scene. We even tried to check out the impounded car." She sent a sympathetic glance across the room to Michael. "We found evidence that pointed pretty decisively to the conclusion that William was murdered and his death staged."

Dom glared at the agent in contempt. "Because of what you are?"

Caitlin jumped to Michael's defense before he could answer. "No. It had nothing to do with Michael. William was killed because of what William was."

Michael leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "My brother was a respected lawyer, but behind the scenes he was working for an organization run by a man named Carlos Luis, one of the worst of the Mexican drug lords. When William realized Luis was doing more than just selling drugs, he re-discovered his conscience and started putting together evidence against the organization in hopes of gaining immunity in exchange for testimony. I can only assume they either figured out what he was doing or he did something else that made him a liability."

 _Huh._ Who would have thought that the white suited spy would have a brother involved with drug running? And why in the world would he take that kind of chance knowing what Michael did for a living? If he knew – not exactly a certainty where Michael was concerned, Hawke realized. Caitlin's words came back to him, her comments regarding lobbing a missile into the family swimming pool. If the brother was indicative of the rest of the family, then Hawke understood her sentiments. "You said Luis was involved in more than drugs?"

It was Caitlin who answered. "Human and weapons trafficking. More importantly, he's trying to buy himself a president."

"Cait." The way Michael said her name, it was a call for patience, a subtle warning not to rush to judgment. "It certainly looks that way, but we don't know that."

"Not yet," she muttered, unrepentant.

Hawke watched as Caitlin and Michael had another of those wordless conversations that consisted of glances and shared looks. His earlier unease deepened. There was something unspoken going on between the two of them, something he didn't understand. Perplexed, he turned his full attention back to Caitlin as she continued.

"Part of William's job was laundering the money that came from the sale of drugs and Luis's other illegal enterprises. In turn, some of that money was being fed into Governor Nelson's campaign coffers."

"Nelson?" Dom asked. "The one they're talking about running for president?"

"The same." It was Michael who answered. "Keep in mind that while we know where the money was going, at this point, we have no idea whether or not Nelson knew about it."

Intentionally or not, they were leaving a lot out. Hawke considered it. "How did you find this out?"

"They held visitation at the house. I kept watch while Michael ransacked his brother's files and computer."

Hawke bit back a chuckle at the pained expression that flashed across Michael's face at the word "ransacked." Perhaps Michael did have some sense of what was apropos after all. "So you have proof of this?"

"There's proof of my brother's involvement with Luis, and there's proof that money was being fed into the campaign."

The important thing was what Michael wasn't saying. "As you said, the question is, how much does Nelson know?"

"Precisely. That's why my plans changed, and I had Cait fly me to Washington. Luis and his drug dealings would normally be well outside the scope of the Firm's charter, but given the situation regarding Nelson, we convinced the White House to allow a further investigation."

"We?" Hawke didn't miss the word. "As in Caitlin was there in Washington, while you went to the White House."

Michael's head turned just enough so he could see Hawke. "Caitlin was with me," he said, his voice low and challenging. "She was with me at Langley and on the Hill and at the NSA Headquarters, as well as at the White House."

"She doesn't have the security clearance for that."

Michael smiled, all teeth and no humor. "She does when she's dressed in white and acting as my aide."

"What?" Dom exploded, furious and sputtering. "String was right. She is working for you!"

The agent didn't even flinch. "I said she was _acting_ as my aide, not that she _was_ my aide."

As annoyed as Hawke was, he had to laugh. Only Michael would have the chutzpah to parade Caitlin through Washington pretending that she was one of his assistants. He was undoubtedly one of the few people with the clout to pull off a stunt like that without it even being questioned. _Well, at least it explained the additions to her wardrobe._

"String!" Dom's voice was strained nearly to the point of breaking. He looked as if he was about one second from leaping out of his chair and wrapping his hands around Michael's throat.

Hawke leaned back in his chair, forcing himself in a casual pose although he couldn't quite stop his arms from crossing across his chest. "He's jerking us around, Dom. He's being a deliberate ass and saying just enough to have both of us leaping to conclusions." He glared at the agent. "And he's enjoying himself."

"About time one of you idiots figured it out," Caitlin muttered from across the room.

Hawke ignored her, hard gaze still on Michael. "Can't say I think much of his sense of humor." Then he really did relax, dropping his arms and giving Cait a long perusal. "But you've got to admit there's something about the image of Cait playing dress-up and puppy-dogging Michael around Washington."

"Hey!" Caitlin managed to look both hurt and indignant at the same time. "I'll have you know I could have an agent's job if I wanted one."

At that, Dom did surge out of his chair. "Ah ha!" He pointed an accusatory finger at Michael. "You _did_ try to hire her!"

Caitlin jumped off the desk, deftly inserting herself between Dom and Michael. "Not him. Some guy from the National Security Agency."

Michael shrugged, not quite succeeding in keeping a straight face. "Fredricks, trying to poach what he thought was one of my employees. Again. I really do need to have a talk with him."

Hawke watched the interplay between them as Dom reluctantly returned to his seat, still angry but somewhat mollified. Michael was amused, but trying not to show it, and Caitlin – Caitlin was again resting on the edge of the desk, but she was keeping a close eye on Dom. _She had stepped in front of Michael to protect him from Dom._ Not that the agent actually needed her protection, but the fact that she'd offered it meant something. He just wished he knew what.

"Anyhow. . . " Caitlin continued, stretching out the word. "Michael's been authorized to investigate further and find out whether the Governor is involved."

There had been something nagging at Hawke, something he couldn't quite put a finger on. It finally gelled. "Michael, wouldn't something like this normally go through the committee?"

The agent scowled. "It would. Except that Nelson and Zeus are long time friends. I have no proof of collusion, not even a whisper, but even a tentative connection was enough for me to seek outside authorization."

"Oh, hell." For the moment, Dom had apparently forgotten his anger over Caitlin.

"Precisely," Michael agreed. "I can't trust anyone from the Firm on this."

 _Finally, the pieces fell into place, and it all began to make some sort of sense._ Caitlin might not actually be one of Michael's operatives, but because he knew she was outside Zeus's sphere of influence, he had been using her as one. The thought ignited his temper once again. He was well aware of just how manipulative and devious Archangel could be. The fact that Caitlin had let him use her in this scheme of his proved that Michael had already started to twist her loyalties. Hawke didn't like it. He made a mental note to grab Dom later. They would need to talk.

"What's the plan, Michael?" Hawke finally asked, certain that the agent had one.

"Nelson is holding a very exclusive fund raiser next week at a resort outside of Corpus Christi. Based on our intel, I think there's a strong probability that Luis will show up. Thanks to a little pressure from the White House, 'Michael Coldsmith Briggs' has been extended invitations."

Hawke noted the plural. "Invitations?"

"For myself – and guest."

He could see where this was headed. "No way. You're not dragging Cait into this."

She was off the desk again, arms folded and eyes flashing in anger. "String, that's my decision, not yours. And he's not dragging me anywhere. I want to see this through."

"He's using you, Cait. Just because he's talked you into it, that doesn't mean you have to go through with it."

"He's not using me and he most certainly did not talk me into anything. Actually, when I first suggested it, he refused to let me go. That's what I was so mad about."

That was a surprise. _Was he still jumping to conclusions about the agent's motives?_ He shifted his attention. "Michael?"

One long finger stroked his mustache before he replied. "I don't particularly like it either, but she presented several valid points in her argument to be included."

Again, Hawke wondered how the two of them had managed to do so much plotting behind his back. The more he heard, the more he began to think he wasn't wrong after all, and the more he needed to have that talk with Dom. "She's sure as hell not going in there unless we've got some way of keeping track of her. What about a wire?"

Michael shook his head. "Chances are there will be metal detectors, and given the nature of the event, it wouldn't surprise me if security had signal jammers in place to prevent any eavesdropping. That's why–" Michael reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a jewelry box. He handed it to Caitlin. "You'll be wearing this."

She opened the box and let out a gasp, obviously surprised. "Are these diamonds?" she asked, holding up the elaborate bracelet.

"Yes, but the stones aren't important. The settings and chain are a very specific mix of platinum and iridium which should be easily detected by Airwolf's scanners." He turned his attention from her to the two men. "Hawke, you and Santini will have Airwolf hidden nearby. We'll have a regularly scheduled check in. If there's any problem, you'll be able to track Cait's position."

Hawke would have preferred to be in actual communication, but he understood why that would be impossible. This was, at least, a workable alternative. "We'll do a trial run first, make sure the scanners can pick it up."

Caitlin returned the bracelet carefully to its box and handed it back to Michael. "You keep that for now. It's got to be worth a fortune. I don't want to be responsible."

Dom gave Hawke a look. "Are we really going to let her do this?"

She answered before he could. "I'm standing right here, and I'm doing it, whether you like it or not."

Hawke kept his expression carefully neutral. He shrugged. "I don't think we can stop her." It was true. Once, not long ago, if they had insisted strongly enough, he and Dom probably could have talked her out of it. The Caitlin who had returned from Washington, though, was a different Caitlin. _Stronger, more confident._ He was reminded about the old quote about clothes making the man. Had pretending to be one of Michael's aides really changed her that much, that quickly?

"You can't. I'm doing this." She glanced toward Michael with another of those looks that were heavy with silent communication before turning her attention back to Hawke. " _We're_ doing this. Hopefully with you and Dom and Airwolf backing us up, but if not, well. . . . "

He was fairly certain that it was an exercise in futility, but he decided to take one last shot at talking sense into her, to appease Dom, if nothing else. "I still don't like it. It's too damn dangerous. If Nelson is dirty, and he figures out why you're there, it's going to get ugly."

Caitlin sighed. "String, how many times have I put myself into a dangerous place with you or because of you? So this time it's with Michael. What makes that so different?"

 _Michael sent Gabrielle into Libya._ He caught himself before he said it out loud. He shook his head. "It just is."

Michael fixed Hawke with a stare. "I assure you, I have no intention of allowing anything to happen to Caitlin." He leaned forward and rose, retrieving his cane from where he'd left it against the desk. "And with that, I have to go. Other things to accomplish tonight. I'll be in touch with the details once they're finalized."

"I'm going to head out, too. I'll walk you out." Caitlin slid from the desk where she'd been sitting. "Guys, I'll see you in the morning." She grinned. "Enjoy your stag party."

The idea of her going anywhere with Michael – even just walking out to his car – grated on Hawke, but something told him to pick his battles carefully. This one wasn't important, and he let them go.

"What . . . the . . . hell?" Dom asked, once Caitlin had followed Michael out.

"I wish I knew. I thought he was trying to recruit her, but now . . . I don't know. Maybe he _is_ trying to take Luis down. Hell, maybe it's an elaborate plan to take Zeus down. Maybe he's trying to soften Cait up so she'll tell him where the Lady is. All I know is, whatever game he's playing, I don't like it."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin was quiet until they had cleared the hanger doors, even then looking back once to be sure that Hawke hadn't followed. "Do you think String is suspicious?" she asked, as they approached Michael's Mercedes.

"Suspicious would be an understatement. He's convinced I'm up to something, but he's not sure what. Knowing Hawke, he assumes that I'm after Airwolf." He turned, leaning back and resting against the car door.

Caitlin took a tiny step towards him until she was just within his personal space, close enough to ease the tightness within her, but still far enough away for proprieties sake. "Or trying to recruit me into the Firm."

"Or that." He chuckled. "Poor Hawke. I doubt he knows what he's thinking right now. We've broken pattern and he's grasping to understand. Hawke has always had a very military mindset. It's one of the fundamental differences between us. I thrive on chaos. He prefers to bring the chaos to order and this situation confuses him. He doesn't enjoy it when things don't happen the way he thinks they should."

"You're enjoying his floundering."

He smirked. "I am. Just a little. Lord knows, he's been a pain in my ass enough times that I'm not above a little schadenfreude."

"Easy for you to enjoy. I'm the one that will be facing the inquisition in the morning. How much am I allowed to tell them?"

"About?"

"Luis. Your brother. Your family in general."

He shrugged. "I've always been a private man, by both inclination and profession. But, I trust your judgment in keeping my secrets. Tell them what you think they need to hear. Although, I'd just as soon you leave out the speculation about me being a pimp."

Caitlin laughed, then turned serious. She noted the way he took the weight off his left leg. She'd seen the same thing back in the office; it was why she'd shoved the chair at him. _Bossy._ He'd said it under his breath, but she'd heard it enough from him that she could read the word on his lips. "Are you . . . are you sure you're up for this?"

He eyed her for a long minute. "What you're asking, is it 'up for'? Or 'up to'?"

She felt the heat rise in her face. "Michael, I–"

"Don't apologize. It's a valid question, especially after I assured Hawke that I'd take care of you." He paused, as hesitant as he'd been that first night with her. "All I can tell you is if I stay off the leg for a few days before we go, it will help. Generally, I can do what I need to do, but that said, I'm not going to win any foot races."

Caitlin shook her head. "That's not why I asked. I'm not worried about your ability to protect me. I was just thinking that this 'event' sounds like the sort of thing where there's a lot of milling about and mingling. I can't imagine that's going to be very comfortable for you."

He shrugged. "It is what it is. Part of the job."

She gave him a twisted smile. "The job sucks. For any number of reasons."

Michael gave a short, humorless laugh. "Occasionally it does." He reached for her, his fingertips ghosting across her cheek before dropping away. "Cait, once this is over . . . I don't know . . . we'll figure out what we're going to do."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. If she did, those traitorous words might spill out. _I love you_.

"I do need to get going." He turned and opened the car door. "Once the details are finalized. I'll be in touch. Probably a couple days."

"Take care of yourself. And stay off that leg."

This time, the laugh was genuine as he got into the car. "Whatever am I going to do with such a bossy woman?"

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin arrived at Santini Air twenty minutes early the next morning, but Dom's jeep and the helicopter Hawke used to commute to the cabin were both already there when she pulled the Datsun around to the side of the hanger. Leaning her head down against the steering wheel, she let out a sigh. She didn't like withholding information from String and Dom and she was terrible at lying and sneaking around, but it wasn't just her secrets she was protecting. Sitting up, she took a deep breath before letting it out slowly, steeling herself for the coming interrogation. Finally, she got out of the car and headed in.

"Morning, guys." Entering the office, she greeted them with a friendly wave as she went to check the scheduling calendar, ignoring the fact they were both quite obviously waiting for her. Dom was behind his desk, his arms folded across his chest, while String had taken one of the side chairs, his posture no less aggressive. "Did you leave me any coffee?" she asked, crossing the room to the coffee maker and reaching for the pot that tended to be empty more often than not.

"There's still some there," Hawke answered.

"Yeah," Dom added, "You might as well drink your coffee here at work. You don't wanna be spilling on that fancy new wardrobe of yours."

Caitlin filled her cup and added sugar and creamer, then joined the two men. She didn't sit, choosing instead to remain standing as she sipped her coffee. "I've been meaning to ask. Just _how_ do you two know about my 'fancy new wardrobe,' anyhow? You seemed to know before Michael mentioned me acting as his aide last night."

"Not that it matters," Hawke began, looking a bit guilty, "but you left here with one suitcase and you came back with two. What were you doing that you needed all those clothes, and how the hell did you afford all that?"

Finally settling into a chair, Cait gave a loud sigh. "Not that it's any of your business, but initially I sorta got dragged into family dinner, and dressing for dinner was required. Then when we started looking into William's death, Michael needed my help. I couldn't exactly go to calling hours or traipsing around Washington in a bathing suit or jeans, now could I? So, since it was his idea, Michael was kind enough to pay for the clothes. He felt guilty about getting me involved. No big deal."

Dom eyed her suspiciously. "Yeah. Betcha he told you he felt guilty. He wouldn't know guilt if it bit him in the ass. So how do you get dragged into a family dinner with someone you hardly know?"

"Old fashioned southern hospitality. I was with Michael when he stopped at the house, so his mother invited me. Simple as that. And as far as hardly knowing him, I mean sure, he's mostly dealt with you two, but it's not like I've never talked to him before this. Shoot, my guess is that right now I probably know Michael as well as anyone does." _Maybe better._ She hadn't actually thought about it before, but now that she did, she realized how true that was.

Caitlin caught the looks that String and Dom exchanged. Suspicion and displeasure. She let out a groan. "Oh, come on. You don't spend the better part of a week with someone without . . . I don't know . . . sorta becoming friends, at least. And it's not like he has a lot of those - or that he's close to his family, even."

Hawke looked at her over his steepled fingers. "Does his family know what he does?"

She started to shake her head, stopping mid-motion. "Well, his sister does, now. His sister and her husband." She felt her lips curling in an unbidden smile. "And his niece has sort of known all along."

"Sort of?" Hawke asked.

"She always thought he was a spy." Cait chuckled. "Just a Russian spy."

"Are we sure he's not?" Dom grumbled.

Caitlin sighed. Dom was usually someone who could find the good in almost anyone. Why did he have such an issue with Michael? "You know, he's really not such a bad guy. He certainly treated me decently."

Hawke snorted. "Yeah, I don't doubt he can be damn charming when he wants to be. Fancy clothes. Fancy dinners. Tours of the White House. Dragging you into the middle of this mess with Luis."

Cait leveled a glare a Hawke. "The clothes were work related. Call it role-playing. The 'fancy dinners' pretty much amounted to one really good prime rib and a bunch of take-out. There was no tour of the White House. By the time we got there, all I really wanted was to get done and go back to the hotel so I could take off the heels I was wearing." She paused to take a long breath. "And as for Luis, nobody is dragging me anywhere. You seem to forget that I used to be a cop, and that I'm _from_ Texas. You think I want this guy running drugs into my home state and getting away with killing people? Never mind buying off my Governor. I take exception to that."

"I still don't like it, Cait."

"You don't have to like it." She turned toward Dom before he could speak. "And neither do you. I've got the chance to maybe put an end to this, and I intend to do it. Case closed." She stood, and took her now empty cup to the sink. "Now, if we're done here, I've got work to do."


	10. Chapter 10

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 10**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

A few days later Michael contacted Santini Air and told Dom to have everyone meet at String's cabin that evening.

As Michael sipped his glass of wine, he savored the complex mix of aroma and flavor. It was one of Hawke's better vintages and he was feeling relaxed as he soaked up the peace of the cabin. He would never tell Hawke, but he'd always found a sense of comfort at the lakeside retreat, and he was slightly envious of the pilot. The cabin was the kind of timeless sanctuary that Michael had yearned for most of his adult life.

Setting aside his wineglass, he focused back on the conversation. "I'm not expecting trouble. Even if Luis is there and we are able to identify him, I have no intention of engaging him. This is an intelligence gathering mission more than anything. It's complete serendipity that Nelson is holding the fundraiser. It will give me an opportunity that I wouldn't otherwise have to get closer to him. I admit I want Luis. I want his entire organization. But first and foremost, I'll be there to gather information about whether or not a potential presidential candidate has been compromised."

"So why drag Caitlin into it?" Santini demanded. "You don't need her."

"Dom." Caitlin warned.

"I don't get it, Cait. You don't have'ta do this." Santini's frustration with the whole operation had been decidedly vocal. He had been challenging Michael on every point of the discussion that evening.

Michael stirred on his perch on the bar stool. Getting frustrated in return with Santini wouldn't solve anything though. "Having Caitlin with me is actually an asset in this case."

"How?"

He sighed. "Michael Briggs is a man of wealth and power. He's ruthless and dominating. He surrounds himself with the very best that money can buy whether it is horses or cars or . . . women."

"Hey now," Santini sputtered, offended on Cait's behalf.

Michael continued on. "Michael Briggs would never attend this type of event by himself. He'd have a companion with him. A young, beautiful woman whose presence provides proof that he's still young and virile." As he said the words, his mind went back to that first night with Cait. Perhaps he _had_ been trying to prove something that night, at least to himself.

"You mean like Marella and Sam and Lydia and-" Hawke grinned, nursing his own glass of wine. "Are you sure this is just a cover, Michael?"

"Such women are also underestimated," Michael replied, refusing to rise to the bait. "Which is why I surround myself with them." He chanced a glance at Caitlin, and was unaccountably relieved to see that she appeared amused by the exchange.

"Isn't that the secret to a good cover story, anyhow?" Caitlin asked. "Just enough fact thrown in so that the fantasy hangs together and makes sense? So that if anyone looks closely they'll find exactly what they are looking for?" When neither Santini nor Hawke answered, her eyes narrowed. "Oh, please. Don't tell me neither of you have ever watched any old spy movies?"

Hawke reached for the wine bottle, refilling first Michael's glass then his own. Santini waved him off, but Caitlin rose from the couch and crossed to the bar, extending her glass. Hawke topped it off. "So," he asked her, "you really think you can play the part of Michael's mid-life crisis?"

"I didn't take those acting lessons for nothing, you know." Her eyes brightened with a mischievous glint as she turned her attention to Michael. "How do you want me to play this? Am I going to be a totally brainless bimbo or do I have some remote semblance of a brain?"

Hawke snorted before sending a malicious grin in the agent's direction. "You heard the man, Caitlin. _Michael Briggs_ is going to go for the brainless bimbo. You think your acting skills are good enough for that?"

Michael knew exactly what Hawke was trying to do. Caitlin was a strong and proud woman. She wasn't brainless, by any means. He wanted to push her into anger; wanted to push her into being angry enough to walk away from the entire operation. In a way, it was almost laughable. Hawke had no idea. Michael glanced over at Caitlin and was surprised to see that streak of deviltry shining in her eyes. Against his wishes, his body reacted to the sight and he shifted again on the bar stool wondering just what she was about to do, because he had no doubt she was about to do something.

Caitlin laughed. "I guess you're right. You should always give your audience what they expect to see. They'll expect to see a scantily dressed younger woman who flirts with every good-looking, wealthy man she sees and is somewhat bubble-brained. Someone who hangs on you and your every word."

Michael shook his head. "I don't think I can handle bubble-brained."

"Okay, maybe not quite bubble-brained, but definitely not the sharpest tack in the drawer." She tapped a finger against her glass as she thought it though. "Actually, that might not be bad. People tend to indulge dumb, flirty women. No one would suspect anything odd if I asked entirely too many personal questions of the other guests."

He nodded, unsure how he was going to handle Caitlin "hanging" on him. The idea both appealed and scared the hell out of him at the same time. He wasn't quite comfortable with the sly little grin she was still wearing, either.

"Am I wearing white?" Caitlin asked, her eyes wide with innocence. _She really was a better actress than either Hawke or Santini gave her credit for._

"Is that really necessary?" Hawke grumbled. "Can't you just wear your own clothes?"

Michael ignored him. "Do you mind?"

She smiled. "I'm going to need more clothes."

"And shoes." They'd had this conversation before but he suspected that this time it was for the benefit of Santini and Hawke.

She grinned. "Always." Then she paused and added, "Boo-Bear."

Santini promptly spit out his wine. Michael was glad that he had already swallowed. "Boo-Bear?"

Caitlin dipped her head before peering at him through her lashes. "But Boo-Bear, silly little Caitlin would have a nickname for her mysterious, older lover."

"Not Boo-Bear." His tone brooked no argument.

"Ahh, how about Snookums?" Santini suggested, his delight at Michael's discomfort readily apparent.

Hawke laughed. "Honeybear?"

Michael ignored them both, his gaze never leaving Caitlin. "Give me a little dignity. Please?"

She set her wine glass on the bar top and took a step towards him as Michael fought the urge to back away. Not that he could actually go anywhere, sitting at the bar the way he was. He swallowed hard as she sidled up next to him and rose up slightly on her toes until her lips were level with his ear. He was dimly aware that both Hawke and Santini had stopped laughing. "How about Handsome?" One finger trailed down the front of his vest, stopping to swirl around each of the buttons as she moved downward. His heart began to pound with memories of the last time she'd done that. Her voiced dropped. "Or maybe Angel?"

"Cait-" He wasn't sure what he was going to say.

Then she giggled, pressing her body against his side; giggled like the bit of arm candy she was going to play. "Oh, I know. _Tiger_."

Michael's whole body twitched. The realization was sinking in that the trip to Corpus Christi was going to be pure torture.

That giggle sounded again, pitched a little huskier. "Tiger, it is."

Then she pushed herself away and stepped backwards, hands on her hips while she glared at Hawke and Santini, both of whom were staring at her in slack-jawed amazement. "They call it acting, gentlemen. Now do you really think I can't pull this off?"

 _Torture. Pure torture._

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

The four of them had split up to travel to Corpus Christi, Dom and String bringing Airwolf and stashing her away, while she and Michael had flown down on a commercial airline, their first class seats coming courtesy of Michael. The easy way he spent money on her – more new clothes and shoes, limos and the tickets – bothered her a little, and yet there was no doubt that he enjoyed using the mission as an excuse to spoil her.

Her fingers ran lightly across the diamonds of the tracking bracelet on her wrist as she remembered the trip the two of them had taken to buy additional clothes for the weekend. She could reuse some of the pieces she'd acquired for Washington, but she'd had nothing that would work for the black-tie dinner. Michael had pulled out his charge card as if it was nothing. She was fairly sure he'd had more fun than she did buying the clothes. She couldn't deny the tight feeling that had bloomed beneath her ribs when he'd looked at her with a warm, approving gaze as she'd modeled each new set of clothes. Yet, his gaze had been just as appreciative, just as heated, when she'd changed back into her own worn jeans and button down shirt.

"Don't be getting ideas."

Caitlin looked up to Dom's scowling face. "Ideas?"

Dom jerked his head at the bracelet. "Fancy jewelry. Fancy clothes. Archangel's a professional con man, Cait, and you're too soft-hearted. He buys you a few trinkets and you do anything he asks. You're letting him use you to avenge his brother."

She and Dom were waiting in their hotel room for String and Michael, who'd gone out to get lunch for the four of them. It was the first time Dom had said a word to her since they'd arrived, although his scowls and frowns had spoken his feelings plain enough.

"This isn't about his brother, it's about Luis, Nelson, and however many cops and judges Luis has on his payroll." She paused, then added, "And maybe Zeus, too. I'm not saying that Michael doesn't - didn't - care at all about his brother, but they're not a close family. If it was only about the murder, I think Michael would have just turned it over to the state police and let them handle it."

Dom snorted. "Zeus. That's what it comes down to. Firm politics. I might have more sympathy if he _was_ avenging his brother. Instead he's dragging you into something he should be using his own people for."

The cool diamonds slid beneath the pad of her finger. She glanced up at Dom, then back down to the bracelet. She was tired of this and wanted to . . . wanted to lash out, wanted to shock Dom. She wanted to tell him how she'd seduced Michael, or maybe it _was_ Michael that had seduced her that first night in her apartment. Maybe they had seduced each other. She bit back the words, though, unwilling to have that fight just yet. She tried to see it from Dom's point of view. "I know you fuss at me because you care. You huff and growl because you're worried that I can't see the danger." Her gaze caught his. "Michael needs help. He didn't ask me for it, I offered. Just like I'd offer to help you or String."

She held up her arm, the diamond bracelet catching the light. "I'm going to a fancy weekend retreat, Dom, and doing a little acting. It's not like we're expecting a fire fight to break out so I doubt I'll be in any real danger beyond fending off a wayward groper or two. But if anything does happen" – she shook her arm – "I have the utmost faith that you, String and the Lady will come for us."

Dom's face was softening. _Finally she was getting through the stubbornness._

"I just don't like you wearing that wardrobe, Cait. I still think he's trying to recruit you." He shook his head. "I never figured I'd see you in that much white 'til I got an invite to your wedding."

 _Her wedding._ Dom had made the comment innocently enough, but Cait's fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. Marriage was the last thing she wanted to think about. She was well on the way to falling for a man she couldn't even be with. Not even in her most fanciful daydreams did she let herself contemplate the thought of a wedding and happily ever after. That image brought too much pain. She forced a laugh out for Dom sake. "Come on, Dom. I'm just playing dress-up. I'm not joining the Firm, and I'm certainly not getting married any time soon." She kept her voice light, even as her words tasted of ash.

"Ah, one of these days someone will sweep you off your feet. Meanwhile, you just watch yourself with Mr. Clean. Don't you let him take advantage of you."

She knew Dom was talking about the mission, but her mind twisted his words with her own thoughts. Michael wouldn't take advantage of her, she was certain of that. He had already shown that he'd do his best to avoid hurting her, no matter how misguided his methods had been. But the relationship between the two of them was complicated.

"No one is taking advantage of me." Cait forced herself to stop toying with the bracelet and instead glanced toward the door, hoping to distract Dom and change the topic. "Where in the world did they go to get lunch, anyhow? They could have been half way to Dallas and back by now."

"Michael's demanding spill proof containers. All that white all the time and not a spot on him. It's not natural."

Caitlin grinned, glad that their conversation had moved to safer ground. She glanced down at her blouse, unconsciously scanning for stains. "Tell me about it. I'm constantly paranoid I'm going to get something on myself. Or on him."

Dom chuckled, the first sign of good-humor she'd seen from him in days.

"Ah now, Cait. There's an image." Dom waved his fingers in the air. "Michael with greasy hand prints all over that fancy suit of his. Maybe a bit of spilled coffee. You oughta-"

"Don't be mean. It's not. . ." She trailed off as the door to the hotel room opened, admitting Michael and String, their arms full of what looked and smelled to be Chinese takeout and assorted drinks.

"Lunch!" Hawke announced as he set his bags down on the small hotel side table.

Putting aside her annoyance with Dom, she rose from the bed and headed to Michael's side to help dish out the food. A few minutes later, she and Michael were sitting on opposite sides of the table while Dom was settled on the end of one the beds. Hawke was leaning comfortably against the wall, his paper plate balanced in one hand.

"I think a twice a day check in will be sufficient," Michael told Hawke, by all appearances continuing a conversation they'd been having on the way back from the restaurant. "Any more and it's likely to rouse suspicions."

He tapped the back of her fingers with his chopsticks as she reached towards one of the cardboard containers. "Not that one."

Ignoring Dom and String's shared looks, she frowned at Michael. "You ordered it extra hot, didn't you?"

He gave her an unrepentant grin. "Possibly." His chopsticks pointed to another container. "Try that one. I think you'll like it."

As Caitlin reached for the container, Michael switched back to the conversation. "You have the list of verbal codes. I don't think there will be a problem. Cait has the bracelet and since there are no electronics to worry about, she can wear it all the time without having to take it off."

"And if you and Cait miss a check in?"

Michael took a bite, and Cait watched him as he mulled over his answer. "There are going to be a lot of unknowns in this. Recon missions rarely follow neat timetables. It may not always be easy to get to a phone immediately. Give us at least an hour if we miss check-in before starting up the engines." Michael hesitated. "I don't expect any trouble, but worst case scenario, call the number I gave you from a secure line. The White House will bring in whatever reinforcements are needed. And don't be an ass," he added.

Scowling, Hawke nodded and turned to his own food.

For Caitlin, the quiet came to an end all to soon as the telephone between the two hotel beds rang. Dom, sitting the closest grabbed it up. "Yeah?" He nodded along to something that the person on the line was saying. "Yeah. They'll be out in a minute." He set the phone back in its cradle. "Your _limo_ is here," he stated, snide emphasis on the word limo.

Caitlin just sighed, knowing that Dom wasn't going to change his opinions. Grabbing a napkin she made sure her fingers were absolutely clean before she smoothed her hands over her clothes. White jeans and the white silk blouse she'd bought in Texas had been combined with white cowboy boots. Michael was already standing and holding her jacket. Ignoring Hawke's accusing stare, she let Michael slip it up and over her shoulders, his hands solid and comforting as he squeezed her shoulders once in encouragement.

He stepped back and picked up their two suitcases. "Dom. Hawke. We'll see you in a few days."

Dom was scowling again, but Hawke nodded back, Caitlin noticed. "Keep her safe."

Gathering her purse, Caitlin opened the door and ushered Michael out. Just as the door closed, she tossed back, "And I'll be sure to keep _him_ safe, too."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

"Cait?" A warm hand reached out and planted itself on her bouncing knee, stilling the restless movement.

Her eyes closed for a second in embarrassment. "Sorry. I'm just . . ." She trailed off, unsure how to explain.

"Just?"

She gave him a small smile, willing her body to relax back into the leather seats of the limo taking them to the resort where the political VIP weekend was scheduled to be held. She was only partially successful, but hoped that even that much would lessen the worry she could detect in Michael's gaze. "I'm actually not sure I could settle on one emotion right now. I'm still annoyed at Dom and String. I know they don't like this whole plan and I respect that, but at the same time, how many times in the past have I disagreed with some hare-brained scheme of theirs and still gave them my support when they needed it?"

The hand still resting just above her knee gave a little squeeze. "At the risk of sounding like a cliché, it's not you, Cait. It's me."

"That doesn't make their behavior any less annoying. It's as if they can't decide what they're really upset about – that I can't protect myself, that you can't protect me, or that you have some kind of nefarious plan against my virtue."

Michael swallowed a small cough at her last pronouncement. She ignored his reaction to continue her own mini tirade. "And it's not even my actual virtue they're worried about, which would at least be sort of flattering in a big brother sort of way. No, they think you're trying to recruit me or twist my loyalty."

"Cait?"

"What?" she grumbled.

"Regardless of the decision to not complicate things any more than they already are, make no mistake, I do have designs on your virtue." He flashed her that smirk she loved so much. "The fact Hawke hasn't even considered that my interest might be less than _proper_ , actually rather amazes me."

It felt like her insides were melting. _The things this man did to her_. "Hawke doesn't see me – won't let himself see me, really – as a woman. If you'll forgive the expression, I'm in his blind spot."

"So, if Hawke doesn't see you, he can't recognize that anyone else will see you either." His hand tightened again on her thigh. "His loss, Caitlin."

"Yes, well, just because he's blind doesn't mean that he and Dom get to act like you're some evil ogre. You aren't. They need to get over it."

His thumb brushed back and forth against her in soothing sweeps that she could feel even through the white denim of her jeans. "Your faith in me means a lot. But the truth is that sometimes I'm not so sure that I'm not evil. Hawke and Dom have their reasons for distrusting the government and the Firm. As their liaison to the Firm, I'm just as guilty in their eyes." He finally pulled his hand away, leaving Caitlin to feel the loss of his warmth. "When this is over, remind me of this conversation when we are alone. I'll have a glass of scotch too many and I'll tell you about Moffett and Gabrielle and Hawke and that shaky first year as we figured out how we were going to make this work."

She felt her heart constrict. No matter how lightly he made the offer, she knew dredging up those old memories would be painful for him. _Hence the scotch_.

"Dom's unfunny jokes about your attire aside, what else is bothering you?" he asked, the reference to Dom's quips about her clothes an obvious attempt to lighten her mood.

"I think I just realized how hard this is going to be. I don't mean the undercover or the fact that Cheyenne isn't all that bright – and really, Michael, Cheyenne? How in the world did you come up with that name? It sounds like I'm a stripper. But well, I guess that I'm finally realizing why you didn't want me to do this mission."

"Caitlin."

The way he looked at her and said her name _that way_ made her want to crawl into his lap – limo driver and mission be damned. She didn't though, because they did have a mission and both of them had responsibilities, Michael's an even heavier burden than her own. "Right," she said, briskly, deliberately changing the conversation.

They spent the rest of the drive going over their cover, quizzing each other on their backstory so that the lies rolled quickly and easily off their tongues with no identifying hesitations to mark them.

Half an hour later, the limo pulled through the wrought iron gates and manicured lawns that marked the entrance to the exclusive resort.

Letting Michael usher her from the car, Caitlin slid into her new persona and let her admiring gaze roam around the lobby of the registration building while completely ignoring the bellhop struggling with their luggage.

A few minutes later, the same bellhop opened the door and ushered the two of them into their room. Caitlin, still mindful of the role she was playing, took a few quick steps into the middle of the room and spun around to face Michael. "Ohh, look at this room." As Michael ignored her to tip the bellhop, she pouted, making sure the young man caught her expression. "Tiger, you promised."

Michael heaved the sigh of a busy man faced with a minor annoyance before fixing a smile on his face. "I remember my promise, Cheyenne. No work. You'll have my undivided attention this weekend."

"Good," she purred. Sidling up to him and clasping his arm, she ignored the way the muscles under her fingers tensed. "Because if you promise to be good, I promise to be really, really bad."

As the grinning bellhop closed the door behind them, Caitlin stepped away from Michael, her body language shifting to something less flirtatious and more sober. Despite the fact that it was all an act, she had a hard time looking in Michael's direction. She knew that such blatant public displays discomfited him and she disliked making him uncomfortable. He was excellent at hiding his reactions and she knew that in all the years he'd worked in intelligence, he'd probably had to do much worse. Sometimes, even she didn't catch that initial freeze in his usual smooth demeanor. It also made her feel somewhat guilty to know that she wanted to flirt with Michael for real, to tease out the man who whispered deliciously wicked things against her bare skin. He was such a contradiction, the public and the private man, and she wanted to know all of him.

Giving him some space she moved to her suitcase, lifting it onto the bed and unzipping it. She normally wasn't the type of person to unpack, preferring to simply live out of her suitcase, especially when she was only staying anywhere for a few days. But, she suspected Cheyenne was the type to spread her belongings throughout a hotel room, and it gave her both something to do with her hands and time to gather her wits about her. Michael, she noticed as she stowed her shoes in the closet, was flipping through a packet of information that had been handed to him by the front desk clerk.

"Anything interesting?" she asked.

"The governor's staff was quite efficient. There's a list of invitees, fifty-two of us in fact, along with short bios. What you might expect – a couple of judges, two congressman and a senator, company owners, investment bankers. Looks like my old cover is still holding up. The bio they dug up for me is accurate." His expression shifted to one of mild annoyance. "The picture, however, is not the most flattering."

"You poor thing." She hung up the evening dress she'd brought with her. "Will the congressmen and the senator be a problem?"

A slight shake of his head as he continued reading. "No, they shouldn't. None of the three are on any of the intelligence committees and even if they've seen me around the capital, they will assume I was there for political reasons." He fell silent then muttered a soft "damn" under his breath.

That didn't sound good. "What?" Caitlin asked.

"Jessica Daley." Michael glanced up at Cait. "She's one of the invitees and could be a problem. She's a lobbyist working for the Chamber of Commerce. She doesn't work with Brad but definitely runs in the same circles and I've run into her several times at various functions."

"Does she know who you are?"

"I doubt it. My habit of avoiding Washington tends to insulate me and anyone inquiring about me or my background is going to run into the official bio that shows up here."

"But if she's acquaintances with Brad and Sara then she may have heard their rumors and speculations about you."

"Possibly. We'll have to play that by ear. It might not be an issue. For that matter, I might be able to find a way to use it to our advantage."

Finished with the unpacking, Caitlin settled on the edge of the bed. "So what now?"

Michael waved the sheaf of papers at her. "The efficient staff comes through again. This is an itinerary for the weekend. There is a cocktail meet and greet scheduled for this evening at five. I'll use that to see if Luis is here and if I can identify him, as well as make the acquaintance of the Governor. Since I was invited at the direct suggestion of the White House, I'm hoping he'll be interested in talking."

"Is there a dinner scheduled afterwards?"

"Nothing formal. Since people are still arriving, it looks as if they set up the resort's dining room so guests can eat on their own. Tomorrow will be the political and strategy meetings."

Caitlin made a face. "Ugh."

Michael laughed at her. "Don't worry. I'm not going to make you sit through those. There is an indoor pool and a spa. Oh, looks like there's also a chartered excursion into Corpus Christi to visit some of the more exclusive shops."

"Pool, spa and shopping." She could hear the disgust in her voice. "Can they get any more chauvinistic?"

He chuckled. "Given the choice, I'd choose the spa over the political speeches any day. Not to mention, I guarantee you that a good number of the women getting their nails done tomorrow will have a serious say in controlling how much is ultimately donated to the governor's campaign. I would suggest that you go and see what you can hear. I'll give you my card."

"Michael, I can't-"

"Cheyenne wouldn't think twice about it. Pamper yourself while you eavesdrop."

She made a face at him but dropped it, knowing that she wasn't going to win the argument. "So what else is on the agenda?"

"Sunday morning there are more political meetings. The afternoon seems to be devoted to targeted breakout sessions with key individuals. Being mostly an unknown with this group, I doubt I'll be included there. Sunday evening is the black tie dinner."

Michael flipped through the sheaf of papers again, before tossing them on the bed. "You'll need to read though that so that you recognize everyone. Luis isn't listed, more's the pity. If he's here, he'll stand out as the one that isn't part of that list of fifty-two."

"You don't think he'll keep a low profile?"

"I doubt it. He's confident in his power and his control of the situation. He's going to want to be at the heart of everything."

"Makes sense," she said, reaching for the papers.

"Do you mind taking a walk with me?" Michael abruptly asked as he stood and retrieved his cane.

She gave him an inquiring look.

He nodded at the papers under her fingers. "There's a map of the resort compound there, but I'd like to see the place first hand."

She studied him, sensing a certain coiled tension. There was more to his desire for a walk than just reconnaissance. "Of course," she said lightly. "Let me grab my purse."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

A few minutes later Michael led them out of the room and through the lobby of the main guest lodge of the resort. Stepping outside, he sighed as he felt some of the tension that had been building within him ease. Being cooped up – first in the plane on the way to Texas then at the hotel room outside of Corpus Christi where they'd met up with String and Dom, and finally during the limo ride - had taken a toll on both his mind and his leg. He'd needed to get out and stretch a bit. Part of it was physical, the damaged muscles and nerves tightening with the enforced immobility. The remainder was mental, restless energy that sought any escape possible.

When he'd suggested to Caitlin that they walk the grounds of the resort so he could get the layout of the property, he'd half-expected a lecture on staying off his leg. He'd been pleased when she'd accepted instead with a smile.

They walked in a comfortable silence for a while, their shoulders brushing companionably every couple of steps. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. "You haven't mentioned staying off my leg."

She bumped into him again, deliberately this time, he thought. "You asked me not to coddle you. You know your limits better than anyone. I trust that. I trust you." She gave him a sideways look from the corner of her eye. "I only get bossy when it's obvious that you're pushing yourself for no reason." Her voice softened. "I don't like seeing you in pain. I know sometimes you endure it because there is no other choice, but other times you're just too stubborn for your own good."

He chuckled at that. "I suppose I am. Walking is good for me, though, as long as I don't overdo it. It's standing around that plays havoc with it."

"That and pacing." Caitlin gave him a knowing look.

He caught her arm, linking it through his own. "You're too damn observant."

She glanced around, presumably making sure they were alone before she answered. "You're the one who sent me to spy school."

"Spy school? Advanced Tactical and Strategic Operations Training is not _spy school_."

"It's better than ADSOT."

He sighed heavily. "Oh, the mockery. The lack of respect."

Caitlin chuckled at his dramatics. "I just call 'em like I see 'em."

Continuing to walk along, Michael steered them along the public pathways before veering off sharply at the corner of the building housing a coffee shop and the resort's dining hall. "So put all that Firm training to work. What do you see?"

She raised her brows but looked around more carefully than she had before. "There are a number of outbuildings around the main core. A lot of tree cover. Air assault would be difficult." They continued walking along the back of the dining hall, rather than along the public paths. "There are a lot of informal trails back here." She scuffed one boot into the worn dirt-packed path, kicking a pebble so that it tumbled ahead of them. "The employees use these to get places – it's probably quicker and a more direct route between buildings. Less chance of being seen back here as well."

"Good." He took another turn, heading for the dozen or so cottages that dotted the resort grounds for those people not staying in the main building. "Separate quarters," he said, pointing them out with a nod. "My guess is that the Governor and his staff have one or two of these buildings."

"Easier for security to control." Her fingers tightened on his bicep. "There," she said, looking across the clearing. "Third cottage down. The one with the brown shutters. Security detail. I see three."

He scanned the woods behind the cottage. "Off to the left, in the woods, there's a fourth. Exactly in the spot I'd put him if it were my detail."

"You think Luis will be in one of the cottages, too?"

He turned them to head back towards the main resort area. "If he's here, most definitely. The cocktail hour this evening will be interesting." He brushed his fingers along the back of her hand. "I think we'll head back now. We don't want to make security nervous."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Michael paused outside the doors that led into the resort's ballroom where the cocktail party had been set up. "Ready?" he asked quietly. At Caitlin's nod, he led them into the room. The cocktail get-together was informal and since not everyone had arrived yet, only about half of the weekend attendees were there. That, hopefully, should make identifying Luis easier.

As they stepped into the room, almost everyone turned to look at them. Michael was used to the stares and murmurs that his appearance evoked on first, and if he was honest, second and third, meetings. Caitlin wasn't used to the curious attention and he felt her stumble slightly under the pressure of some thirty sets of eyes. Even being with him in Washington hadn't prepared her as they were used to seeing him and his white clad aides. Here, they were both anomalies.

He tightened his hold over her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm offering silent reassurances.

"Mr. Briggs?"

Michael turned at the tentative query to find a fresh-faced young man who was currently holding out his hand in Michael's direction. "I'm Alan Walker. I work for the Governor. Several of us aides have been asked to help facilitate introductions."

Michael reached out to shake the man's hand. "Michael Briggs." He nodded down to Caitlin. "My companion, Cheyenne O'Neill."

Caitlin gave the young man a warm smile. "Pleased to meet you." Her usually indistinct Texas twang was noticeably stronger, creating an instant bond with the young staffer whose own Texas roots were easy to hear. _God, he loved a smart and clever woman._

"Oh, you're Texan."

Caitlin laughed. "Guilty, although California's home now. But when Michael said he was coming to his shindig, I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to come home, even if it's all dull political talk."

The aide grinned at Caitlin, already charmed. "I promise Miss O'Neill that we'll try to make your stay entertaining."

"Call me Cheyenne, please. Miss O'Neill sounds so stuffy."

"Cheyenne, then."

Michael fought the urge to laugh. The boy was already smitten. It was a good thing the aide looked to be all of nineteen or he might have had to be jealous.

"Mr. Briggs, Cheyenne. If you come along, I'll start the introductions."


	11. Chapter 11

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 11**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

Moving through the room, Michael made mental notes on individuals. He'd be interested to compare impressions with Caitlin later, especially what Caitlin thought of Senator Chic Hecht and his wife Gail from the great state of Nevada.

Gail Hecht had already excused herself to speak to someone else, leaving Michael, Caitlin and the Senator.

"I've seen you on and around the Hill, Briggs. You run with folks I don't normally deal with in my corner of the House so I can't say that we've ever been introduced before."

Michael shook the other man's hand firmly. "Senator Hecht. It's a pleasure to meet you. Unlike a lot of people, I dislike Washington and consider my time there a necessary evil. When I'm there, I try to maintain a low profile and get my business completed as quickly as possible."

The senator raised both eyebrows in obvious disbelief. "Forgive me, Briggs, but I can't see how anyone with your taste in clothing maintains a low profile."

Michael laughed at Hecht's bluntness. Very few people every came out and commented directly about his clothes. It was all sly looks and semi-subtle comments. "No offense taken, Senator. My – vanities, if you will – are a habit of long standing. And you would be surprised how quickly I can fade into the woodwork."

"Especially if the walls are painted white."

Michael choked off another laugh. "Exactly, Senator."

Beside Michael, Caitlin shifted drawing both men's attention. "I'm a bit parched. I think I'm going to get myself a drink. Would you like something, Michael? Senator?"

Hecht raised his glass. "No thanks, my dear. I'm still good."

Michael glanced towards the bar and immediately understood why Caitlin made the suggestion of drinks. Standing at the bar were two individuals they hadn't been introduced to by Walker, their helpful guide. Both men were lean, with watchful eyes and wary stances. They were also of clearly Latin descent. His attention turned back to Cait. "Nothing for me, thank you."

Caitlin gifted him and the Senator with a pretty smile and moved towards the bar, a slight extra swing in her hips as she headed directly towards their potential suspects.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin was bored out of her mind, not to mention that the new white cowboy boots she was wearing were starting to hurt her feet. After being caught a little off-guard by the stares they'd received as they entered the reception area, she'd found her equilibrium and settled into her role as Cheyenne. Part of the initial scrutiny, she knew, was their attire, but part of it was the role that she was playing. It had only taken one quick glance around at the people in the room and the distinction between the wives and the trophy wives – and trophy girlfriends - was obvious. Michael had been correct in his assessment that this crowd wouldn't be a stranger to that concept, although she had to stuff her own temper down deep at the reality.

Just because they looked at her like she was a complete gold-digger, didn't mean it was true. She was an accomplished, intelligent woman who could hold her own in a fight, in the air, or on any number of intellectual battlefields. But right now, she was hanging off Michael's arm like a Christmas ornament and smiling vapidly at a room full of people who were probably a drink or two past their limits.

Hiding her disinterest in the conversation between Michael and the Senator, Caitlin let her attention roam around the room. A few new people had shown up since she and Michael had first entered, but she wouldn't peg any of them as being Luis. She was contemplating maybe taking a bathroom break just for a chance to sit for a minute, when two men entered the room through a door situated in the back of the room. Their movements had been unhurried and confident, but she noticed that both men had swept the room in much the same way she'd seen both String and Michael do when entering into an unknown situation. Wearing expensive suits with cowboy boots, the taller of the two was sporting a heavy gold signet ring on his right hand. She had no doubt that one of these men was Luis and she was betting on the guy with the ring.

Interrupting Michael's conversation, she directed his attention towards the bar with the offer of refreshing his drink and getting one for herself.

Ignoring the two men who were her quarry, Caitlin propped herself on the bar, going up on her toes so that she was almost leaning over the bar to get the bartender's attention. "Hey hon! You got any beer back there? I don't think I can take one more frou-frou glass of wine."

At the bartender's grin and nod, Caitlin plopped back down on her heels, her move putting her right next to gold ring man. "Hey there!" She stuck her hand out. "I'm Cheyenne." She pitched her voice as high and bubbly as possible, gracing both men with a large friendly smile. "I don't think we got introduced earlier."

Ring man gave her a lazy and unsubtle perusal that would have set Caitlin's blood to boiling. Cheyenne, however, visibly preened under the man's regard.

He offered his hand after a moment's hesitation. "Carlos." Caitlin noticed two things: Carlos' accent was Texan and not Mexican and he didn't introduce the other man standing slightly behind him. Both items went to confirm her suspicions that Carlos was really Carlos Luis.

She brightened her smile. "Hi, Carlos." Her hand still clasped around his, she tilted the signet ring up. Deeply engraved into the gold was a gothic letter 'L'. "Oooh," she cooed. "Nice ring."

Dropping his hand, she leaned forward slightly into his personal space. "I'm always telling Tiger, I mean Michael, that he ought to get a nice ring." She rolled her eyes. "He, of course, refuses."

Reaching down she plucked at the white shirt she was wearing. "But, then again, the man has no style." She stopped, letting her eyes get big and round. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm rambling. Michael says it's a bad habit."

Luis's lips lifted slightly as if she amused him. Caitlin was willing to work with that. The more he thought her a harmless airhead, the less likely he'd be to censor himself around her.

"Being friendly is never a bad habit. The world needs more gracious and lovely women. I take it you came with the gentleman in white?" Luis nodded across the room at Michael, who had moved on from the Senator and was now speaking with another couple whose names Cait didn't remember.

Cait let out a little giggle as she spread her arms wide to indicate her own attire. "Kind of obvious." She took a sip of her beer. "He's a good sort, treats me well, you know. But he definitely has his quirks." She took another sip and made a face. "If he'd just lighten up a little and quit making everything about work, work and more work, he'd be practically perfect."

Luis reached out to run a finger across the back of Caitlin's hand, a gesture that made her skin crawl. "Oh, then he is no true man to leave such a lovely lady's company for something as mundane as work. What does your friend do?"

Caitlin pretended like she didn't realize she was being pumped for information. "Oh, something to do with imports and exports and trade things." She waved her hand dismissively. "It's all boring, really," she said with a little sigh. "He's always running off to call into a meeting at all times of the day and night because somebody in Asia is awake when the civilized world is asleep." She rolled her eyes before settling into what she hoped was a pretty pout. "If I could just teach him how to party, or at least loosen up some."

She took another sip of her beer before giving Luis a flirty smile as she sidled a tiny bit closer. "So what about you? Are you on the political or business side of this shindig?"

Luis chuckled. "I supposed you could say that I'm on the political side. Governor Nelson and I do some minor business together."

"Oh, that must be-"

"Cheyenne." Michael stepped up next to her, a hand placed against the small of her back. "What are you doing over here?"

Luis straightened from his relaxed slouch against the bar as Michael's eyes trailed over him in a dismissive appraisal.

"Just talking to Carlos. He works with the Governor, isn't that interesting?"

Caitlin hid a smile behind another sip of her beer at the blatant displays of male machismo, or, at least, Luis's display and Michael's very blatant non-display. As a woman who had worked in male dominated professions, she was well aware of how Michael's casual dismissal would rub Luis the wrong way.

Michael gave Luis a perfunctory nod of greeting, but turned most of his attention to her. "I need to attend a conference call later." He handed her a white shawl that she'd left draped across one of the chairs. "We need to leave now for dinner if I'm not to be late."

She gave a despondent little sigh before setting her beer down on the bar counter. "Of course, Michael." Turning to follow Michael from the room, she gave Luis a little wave over her shoulder before they headed out of the room.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Putting a bit of a skip into her step, she caught up to Michael. Wrapping her arm around his, she snuggled into his side while being careful not to trip him.

Their leaving had caught the attention of several sets of eyes and Caitlin played to the crowd. But once beyond the doors, she relaxed her grip and allowed a little more space between the two of them as Michael led them out of the building and towards the separate banquet hall where a casual buffet dinner was being laid out for the early guests.

Mindful of eavesdroppers and watchers, Caitlin relayed what she'd discovered while still maintaining her cover. "I liked him. He seemed like a nice man. Said his name was Carlos."

Michael made a noncommittal sound and Caitlin continued on.

"Although, he was wearing a really nice gold signet ring with an "L" on it. I wonder what that stands for? Lopez? Leon? Oh, I bet it stands for Lorenzo. He looked like a Lorenzo."

"Did he?"

Caitlin nodded and smiled at a couple they were passing before continuing. "He didn't introduce his friend, though. That was kind of rude. Next time I see him, I'll have to ask what his name is, too."

Michael kept up the impression of barely listening to Caitlin's chatter as they moved across the resort's front lawn, but she knew that he'd been paying attention. Now that Luis had been identified there other avenues to explore, especially the extent of his connection to Nelson.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Returning from dinner, Caitlin's shoulders sagged as they stepped into their room and Michael closed the door behind them. "Oh God, I'm tired. Being Cheyenne is exhausting. I don't think I've flirted and smiled and outright giggled that much since I was sixteen."

Michael stepped up behind her and helped her slip the long white shawl off her shoulders before hanging it up. "You did well though. I don't believe anyone thinks you are anything more than what you pretended to be."

Glancing down at his watch, Michael moved over to sit on the bed. "Time for our check in with Hawke." Picking up the receiver, he did a quick sweep for bugs on the phone. Not that he actually thought there would be any, but being out in the field, old habits were hard to break.

Sweep completed, he dialed the number and room extension of the hotel where Santini and Hawke were staying. Hawke picked up on the second ring. "Yeah."

"Personable as ever, I see."

At Hawke's grunt, Michael sent Cait a long suffering look. "We are here and have survived the first night's cocktail hour."

"Were the cocktail weenies and the free booze dangerous?"

Michael ignored Hawke's jab. "Cait spotted Luis."

There was a slight pause over the phone. "You sure it's him?"

"Nine-nine point nine percent probability."

"Then get out of there. Get Cait out of there."

"Luis being here isn't enough, and you know it. Our next check in is at eight tomorrow morning, I'll call-"

When Hawke hung up on him before he'd even finished his sentence, it forced a laugh out of Michael.

"What?" Caitlin asked.

"Hawke is still annoyed with me." He settled further back on the bed so he was propped against the headboard. "Pull off your boots and prop your feet up here. I can tell they're hurting you. And while I massage you can tell me about Luis."

Cait did as she was told and was soon leaning back against her hands at the foot of the bed as Michael dug his thumbs in the arch of her foot. She let herself enjoy his ministrations for a full minute before getting down to business. "Luis and his friend came in from the back. He introduced himself as Carlos and didn't introduce – and pretty much ignored - the man standing behind him."

"Probably a bodyguard of some sort."

"Agreed. They were both watchful and wary though. If you're thinking you can break into their rooms or anything like what you did at William's office, I don't think it's going to work."

"Oh, trust me, I'd like to, but that's too dangerous at this point. The most important thing is that he's here and we know who he is. Truthfully, I didn't think it would be this easy. But you definitely caught Luis's attention." Michael grinned. "He made his annoyance quite plain when I came over to retrieve you."

Cait snorted. "The testosterone definitely spiked in the room. I guess I'll keep up the flirting then. Tomorrow is the spa and shopping day with the wives and girlfriends. Should I stay here instead?"

"No. Definitely go out. Cheyenne wouldn't miss the opportunity and we don't want Luis suspicious. It will be interesting to see if he comes to any of the meetings scheduled for tomorrow. And it would be nice to be able to get a picture of him for the files."

"I've got the camera. Maybe I can do a bit of sightseeing around the resort tomorrow afternoon."

"Possibly. Just remember, Cait, he's dangerous. Don't do anything to put yourself in jeopardy or raise suspicions, especially when I'm not around. This is a recon mission. Nothing more."

"Understood."

"Good." He tapped her feet and she moved them from his lap. "I'm going to grab a shower. You need anything first?"

Caitlin shook her head. "I'll take mine in the morning so I'm fine for now. I'll wash my face and brush my teeth once you're done."

As Michael closed the bathroom door behind him, Cait flopped back onto the bed. _When had they slipped into such easy domesticity with each other?_ She kept waiting for the awkwardness and always felt vaguely surprised when it never materialized. This wasn't to say that there wasn't tension between them, but that was the expectant tension of an oncoming storm and not the uncomfortable tension of two people trying to sidle around each other.

Speaking of tension, it was madding that he was only twenty feet away from her. Naked. Hot water flowing down his body as steam swirled around him. She didn't have to imagine what he looked like. She'd seen him. Knew how he looked with his head tilted back under the spray, the long column of his throat . . . "And I'm getting up," she announced firmly to the room, forcibly removing the images of Michael in the shower from her mind.

Groaning, she rolled off the bed and headed towards the drawer where she'd stuffed her night clothes. By the time Michael stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a resort provided robe, Caitlin had both decided on a dressy yet casual outfit to wear for the ladies day out and donned her nightgown. She'd originally packed her standard sleeping attire of Santini Air t-shirt and threadbare sweats, but had changed her mind in the end, worried that something would happen and she'd be seen. Cheyenne wouldn't be caught dead in such clothing and with Caitlin's luck there would be a fire or something that required them all to be out in the hallway in the dead of night. Instead, she had dug into the back of one of her more unused dresser drawers and found her one and only silk nightgown. It had been a gift from her mother three years earlier and Caitlin couldn't remember ever wearing it.

The nightgown wasn't provocative or overly sexy, just a simple silvery gray sheath that went down an inch or so past mid-thigh. But the way Michael stopped in the bathroom doorway to stare at her had her ducking her head with something that was halfway between defensive and bashful. "I didn't think Cheyenne would be sleeping in an old t-shirt and sweats."

Michael crossed the room and ran his fingertips along the curve of her waist, the movement sending goosebumps racing across her skin. "No, she wouldn't." He shook his head and took a step back. "You are very tempting, Caitlin O'Shannessy, and I will be very glad when this mission is over because you and I are going to have a very long talk."

"About a lot of things."

"Most definitely." Then Michael tilted his head in the direction of the bathroom. "Go on. Bathroom's yours."

Gathering her scattered wits, Caitlin grabbed her make-up kit and made a hasty retreat. Closing the bathroom door behind her, she leaned against it and took several deep, cleansing breaths. She was being completely ridiculous and she knew it, but at the same time, she needed a minute to get herself under control. Michael had a way of affecting her that she couldn't remember any other man coming close to. Not even String had done that, back in the early days when her infatuation with him and the mystery of Airwolf had driven her from Texas to California. Nothing was going to happen. He wouldn't let anything happen. Not until this mission was complete and they were both looking at this . . . whatever it was, with eyes wide open.

She raised her head to look at her reflection in the mirror opposite her. "You, Caitlin my girl, have got it bad." Her reflection nodded in complete agreement.

Blowing out a deep breath and firmly putting the brakes on her libido, she set about her nightly routine.

When she came out of the bathroom, Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue cotton sleep pants and a thin white undershirt. His hair was ruffled and still damp on the ends causing it to curl around his ears. It was a relaxed and casual look that Caitlin rather liked seeing on him. But although his posture was relaxed, that small frown was settled once against right above the bridge of his glasses. It only took her a second to figure out what was causing the frown.

"Stop staring at the settee as if you are measuring it for your bed. You aren't sleeping there."

"Cait—"

"Don't 'Cait,' me." She waved a hand in the direction of the uncomfortable looking piece of furniture. "That thing is at least two feet shorter than you and looks hard as a rock."

"Fine. I'll-"

"You aren't taking the floor either."

His expression turned to one of frustration. "I'm trying to be a gentleman here."

Walking over to the bed she rested her palm on his cheek, her thumb smoothing the skin just under the darkened lens of his glasses. "I don't want a gentleman. I want a ruthless spy with mercenary tendencies. One who will take one side of the nice, big, soft bed and get all the rest he needs so that he can right wrongs, save the world, and protect me from the bad guys."

A small huff of laughter escaped him. "Right wrongs and save the world. Perhaps I should put that in my job description." He turned serious. "I thought you didn't want to be protected."

She shrugged. "There's a difference in protecting me because you want to and protecting me because you think I can't take care of myself."

He leaned into her hand. "You win. I'll sleep in the bed. And really, Caitlin, intelligence agent. I'm a thoroughly ruthless intelligence agent."

Combing her fingers through his hair, she played a bit with the curls she'd noticed earlier. "Arrogant, as well. Let's not forget that."

Michael was grinning at her, an easy and loose expression that erased years from his face. "I like to think of it as a necessary job skill. But feel free to puncture my overweening ego if the need should arise."

"I'll keep that in mind." Finally dropping her hand, she took a small step backwards. "You want this side of the bed?"

At his nod, she felt nervous tension once again coil in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't the idea of sharing a bed with him. If it was simply about sex, neither one of them would be this anxious. _And neither of us would be in this mess to begin with._ Instead, it was the simple intimacy of sleeping side by side, and knowing that every moment shared with him meant giving over a little more of her heart.

He flicked on the small lamp next to the bed. "Hit the overhead and I'll turn this off once you get into bed."

Not quite trusting herself to speak, Cait nodded, quickly crossing the room to shut off the switch. It left Michael sitting in a soft amber pool of light. He'd already taken off his glasses and shifted position to lean back slightly against the headboard. He looked tired, the lines around his eyes more pronounced. This mission, she realized, was taking a larger emotional toll on him than he was letting on. Averting her gaze, she went over to the other side of the bed. It was king-sized; more than enough room for them both to sleep.

As she crawled into the bed, Michael clicked the light off. She tried to get comfortable without moving, shifting slightly and lying with tensed muscles. Each move Michael made as he too tried to get comfortable dipped and swayed the mattress focusing her attention on the body heat she could feel just a foot away from her.

"This isn't going to work." The words were muttered, but she heard them clearly. She thought for sure Michael was going to get up and she prepared herself for another battle of "you are not sleeping on the floor" which was why she let out a "eep" of shock when warm hands grasped her around the middle and dragged her backwards into Michael's chest.

"Michael?"

"Just go to sleep, Caitlin." The words were whispered against her ear as he draped his arm around her waist, his fingers loosely curled against her stomach.

She knew she ought to pull away, even as she relaxed into his hold. But his body was warm against hers, a solid presence against her back. This close, she could inhale deeply and catch the lingering remains of that spicy cologne she enjoyed so much. Even knowing this would just make it harder to stay away from him in the long run, she found she didn't care.

 _Author's Note:_ Only six more chapters left!


	12. Chapter 12

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 12**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

Michael went from sleep to wakefulness in an instance, though it would have been hard to tell had anyone been watching. There was no telltale jerk of his body to give him away, nor did his breathing change from his deep and even breaths. The only outward sign of his sudden change from slumber to wakefulness was a subtle tightening of the muscles in his shoulders; a tense alertness as he let his other senses take in his surroundings.

A faint clinking sounded from the hallway outside their room, followed by the squeak of wheels. The cleaning staff, he realized. He let his body relax, eyes fluttering open as he reflexively tightened the arm snugged around Caitlin's waist. She'd turned sometime in the night to face him, her body lying partly against his own, her top leg bent across his right thigh.

Twisting slightly, he caught the red glowing numbers of the clock. Just past five o'clock, which explained the darkness he could see outside the window. It seemed that his body had subconsciously fallen back into field mode, hyper-alert and on guard. Given the circumstances, it was probably for the best. Fully awake now, he lowered his head enough to bury his nose in Caitlin's hair. He let the scent of her shampoo and the remains of her perfume fill his senses. Field paranoia or not, he'd slept heavily. He felt well rested and content in a way he hadn't been in a very long time.

He wasn't sure what it was about Caitlin that drew him to her. She was so different from the other women that he'd taken to his bed over the years. Then again, maybe that was it. The civilians he'd dallied with never saw him as Archangel and those in the community never saw him as simply Michael. Because of the way he'd met her, Caitlin saw both and seemed to understand him in ways he wasn't even sure the company shrink did. He'd guarded his heart fiercely after Maria, but there was no denying his feelings for Caitlin; the pull he felt towards her inescapable. Not that he was trying to escape. If anything, he realized, looking back over the months since that night he'd propositioned her after Sawyer, he'd been doing everything, consciously or unconsciously, to bring them together again. He wanted the freedom to explore that, the Committee be damned. He pulled her a little tighter against him, smiling softly as she grumbled something in her sleep. He'd told Caitlin that he thrived in chaos, and it was true. His smile widened into something decidedly wicked as he contemplated the pandemonium his decision would cause.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Shopping bag and purse in one hand and key in the other, Caitlin unlocked the door and pushed it open with her toe, her mind still on the nightgown she'd bought. The nightgown she _shouldn't_ have bought. _It was too expensive, too sheer and too short._ She couldn't help but wonder what Michael would think of it. _Assuming she actually had the nerve to wear it in front of him._

"So, did you buy them out?"

She jumped at the quietly voiced words. Michael was sitting in bed, his back against the headboard and legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed, a folded newspaper resting in his lap.

"No, just a couple things." She felt the heat rise in her face as she remembered exactly what one of those things was. Setting the shopping bag down on the dresser, she dug his card out of her purse. "And I got a much needed manicure. Otherwise your line of credit is safe. I do thank you."

"The least I could do for dragging you into all of this. Besides, Cheyenne would have no qualms about spending my money."

Caitlin hung her jacket on the back of the chair. "I didn't expect to find you here. I thought you'd be busy hob-nobbing with the rich and politically connected."

"That's how I spent the morning. I did talk to Nelson briefly. Can't say he impressed me very much. If nothing else, this weekend has certainly reminded me of why I never went into politics. After lunch, Nelson disappeared. So did Luis and his shadow." Michael scowled. "It was either come back here or spend the rest of the afternoon dodging Jessica."

Cait frowned slightly as she tried to place the name. "Oh, the lobbyist."

"Yes. She spent a good bit of time this morning dogging my heels. She passed on her condolences about William's death and insisted on telling me how Brad and Sara are such good people. She obvious wants something, but I haven't a clue as to what."

Caitlin let out a snort of amusement as she sat on the bed to take off her boots, catching Michael's slight wince as she moved. "Your leg is bothering you."

He gave her an appraising look, finally letting out a sigh. "What was that noise for? And is it that obvious?"

"Let me guess, Jessica is beautiful, talented and smart. You, Michael, you are an attractive and powerful man with money, connections, and somewhat dubious taste in clothing. I can't imagine what she could possibly want from you." She gave him an obviously amused grin which faded as she continued. "As for your leg, no. It's not obvious. Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, well, the Jessicas of the world don't seem to catch my notice much anymore." He flashed her that devilish smirk of his. "I find my attention captivated elsewhere." Rubbing a hand down his thigh, he added, "And there's really not much you can do for the leg." Michael glanced at his watch. "Getting off of it for a while will help, and we've got some time before dinner." He patted the bed beside him. "So come sit and tell me about your day. Any great insights from the wives club?"

She rose and circled to the other side, careful not to jostle the bed as she sat down beside him. "Well, I talked to Patricia a bit. Nelson's wife – or should I say Nelson's trophy wife. All bust and big blonde hair and not an ounce of gray matter between the ears."

Michael laughed. "Not the power behind the throne, I take it."

"I'm not sure she could identify a throne. Whatever Nelson might be involved in, I'd be willing to bet she doesn't know a thing about it."

"Anything else interesting?"

"Plenty of gossip, but nothing particularly relevant. I tried steering the conversation around to 'that good looking Latino gentleman' a couple times. I did find out that he's been lurking around the fringes at least as far back as Nelson's first gubernatorial campaign, but no one knows much about him or his role. A couple of the wives have pegged him as some sort of adviser, but that's about it."

"I can't say I expected anything more," Michael said. "Luis might enjoy circulating among the elite, but he's too smart to overplay his hand. An official position on Nelson's staff would invite too much scrutiny."

Caitlin looked down at her hands, willing herself not to pick at her freshly manicured nails. "I did some thinking this morning."

"And?" he prompted.

"I think we need to have a fight." She knew he wasn't going to like the idea.

"A fight? Have I become such bad company already?"

"Not a real fight, silly." She scowled at him. "Just a nice little spat, right in front of Luis. Maybe about you working too much."

He gave her an appraising look. "And you turn to him for comfort?"

"Yeah, more or less."

"I don't like it. I don't want you any closer to Luis than you absolutely need to be."

She let out a sigh. "Didn't we discuss this once already? About you utilizing one of your resources?"

Michael was quiet for a time, and she could almost see the mental wheels turning. "All right," he said, finally. "But I still don't like it."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

After dinner most of the governor's guests had wandered back to their rooms, but a fair number – nearly all men, Caitlin noticed – had found their way to the bar. The room was large and like the rest of the resort was decorated in a Texas lodge motif with dark woods and large leather sofas. Native American patterned textiles were used as accent pieces.

The majority of those who remained were gathered either around the crackling fire in the massive stone fireplace, or standing around the bar. Cigar smoke curled into the air, swirled by the ceiling fans above them. A sense of power hung over the room, almost as visible as the smoke in the air. These people were the powerful elite, owners of corporations and wielders of enormous political influence. Truth be told, they made her nervous. She'd never been more aware of her plain background and middle-class roots than as she'd listened to them talk.

As Michael led them across the room, nodding to some of the men he'd obviously spoken with that day, Caitlin wondered how he could be so different. He was almost as wealthy and in many ways, far more powerful and definitely more dangerous than these men, but she'd never felt _small_ with him, even before they had got together.

Michael eventually led her toward a plush leather couch off to one side, slightly closer to the bar than the fire. Its position would give them a good view of the room and the other occupants, especially Luis, who was standing at the bar.

Standing in front of the oversized piece of furniture, Michael caught her hand and pulled her in close, his gaze searching hers questioningly. "Are you okay?" He was gazing at her in concern, his fingers tight against her own.

"It's nothing. Just feeling a little out of place, I guess."

He gave her another assessing look. "You're doing great."

Not surprising, that was what she needed to hear. Giving him a reassuring smile, she slid into her role of Cheyenne. Tossing her head, she dropped his hand and gave him a flirtatious little shove towards the couch behind him. "Sit. I'll get us some drinks. Anything in particular?"

When Michael sat with no grumbling or complaint, but only a quiet sigh, Caitlin knew he was still in pain. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him. He leaned back and stretched out his leg. "Macallan, please. Neat. And a glass of ice."

Nodding, she headed towards the bar, putting a little extra sway in her hips as she headed towards the bar, feeling the eyes of several of the men in the room follow her as she went. She slid into a small space between Luis and another man, someone she vaguely remembered as being a consultant of some type. Flagging down the bartender, she ordered Michael's scotch and a fruity concoction for herself.

As she waited on their drinks she sent a flirtatious smile in Luis' direction. "Hey Carlos. Did you have a fun day playing with all the powerful people?"

Luis chuckled. "My day was long and boring. I could only wish that I had such a lovely companion such as yourself by my side to ease the boredom."

Cait ducked her head. "Such flattery. You'll make me blush."

"It isn't flattery if it is true."

Before she could respond her drinks were placed on the bar. Sending Luis what she hoped looked like a regretful smile, she gathered them up. "I need to get back over to Michael."

"Who does not look as if he is missing you."

"What?" Caitlin turned and found a woman sitting perched on the sofa next to Michael. She had no doubt that this was Jessica and she'd been right about the beautiful part. For a moment she wasn't sure what she should do and then remembered that _she_ was Cheyenne and Cheyenne would know exactly what to do. Because while Cheyenne wouldn't think twice about flirting with another man, she wouldn't tolerate another woman flirting with a man she considered hers.

She narrowed her eyes. "Carlos, I hope that we get a chance to speak again, but if you'll excuse me, there's something I need to take care of."

Caitlin turned and headed back to Michael, carefully juggling the three glasses, but as she did she made sure that Carlos heard her mutter "hussy" under her breath.

"Excuse me, you're sitting in my spot." The words were polite, the tone saccharine to the point of making Cait's teeth ache.

The woman turned slightly from Michael to stare up at Caitlin. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that Michael was here with someone."

"Yes, I was at the bar, getting Michael his drink." She raised her hands slightly, indicating the glasses. "I need to set these down."

The woman finally took the hint and got up from her seat. "Oh, of course."

Caitlin could see Michael's amusement as she maneuvered herself around the low table. "Cheyenne, I'd like you to meet Jessica. She's a manager in one of the lobbying firms in DC. Jessica, this is Cheyenne."

Cait noticed that Michael gave her no history or titles in his introduction. A fact that she knew Jessica noted as well, if the smug little smile on the other woman's face was anything to go by.

"It's a pleasure," Cait said, as she settled down next to Michael. Sitting sideways she raised one of her knees so that it pressed into his upper thigh, the skirt she was wearing riding a little higher than what she'd normally be comfortable with. She leaned in close, flashing him a little grin. "One scotch, just like you ordered."

Jessica let out something that sounded like a small growl. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to make the rounds. I'll see you tomorrow, Michael."

Michael nodded a farewell before picking up his glass.

"Protecting your territory?" he asked, still obviously amused.

Cait watched him as he used the heat of his fingers to melt a few drops of water from the ice cube into the tumbler of scotch. "Cheyenne would never let another woman encroach upon her territory."

When Michael dropped the cube back into its own glass and reached for a napkin, Caitlin caught his hand. Her lips pursed in a wicked grin, she brought his hand up to her mouth and licked the extra moisture from his fingertips. When his eyes flicked to the men standing at the fire place, she let him take his hand back. She made a show of leaning forward knowing that their audience would come to the completely wrong conclusion about what she was whispering, especially after Jessica had been dismissed. "Sorry," she murmured. "I know that makes you uncomfortable."

He took a sip of his drink. "Don't apologize," he whispered back. "It's completely in character for Cheyenne. I'm just old and stuffy."

She laughed high and light, the sound meant to be heard, as she trailed her hand teasing across the top of his thigh. "A bit traditional. Yes. Reserved? That too. Private? Most definitely. But never old and definitely not stuffy."

He closed his hand over hers, stilling her movement. "Maybe. Lean in."

Doing as he asked, she settled further against him, almost curling into his side so that her head was resting next to his shoulder. They could talk now without being overheard and their closeness made them look more intimate than they were really being.

"Luis is still at the bar?" he asked.

Her position sitting sideways on the couch let Caitlin see Luis clearly over Michael's shoulder. "He is. I did a bit of flirting when I got our drinks."

"Good. The man with him – stocky, squinty eyes – he's definitely one of Luis' bodyguards. I did a bit of chatting earlier with some of the other guests. Luis doesn't go anywhere without him. He's also armed."

"How can you tell?"

Michael gave her a look, one brow raised.

"Never mind."

He grinned at her. "Gun in the small of his back. He's also got something strapped to his forearm, probably a knife."

"Luis?"

"Gun. Same thing, small of his back. Nothing else I've seen." He paused. "I don't particularly like this plan."

She shifted her hands so they were resting on his shoulder, her chin resting on the back of her fingers. "We're here to gather information. Cheyenne is a professional gold-digger. If you and I have a messy fight, it will be expected for me to take out my anger by flirting with other men."

"Just remember, Luis is dangerous. If he's not willing to talk, don't push it. I'll check in with Hawke and give you about thirty minutes before I come back."

"And drag me off?"

"Don't tempt me," he growled, his voice tainted with annoyance, more at their plan than at her, she knew. When Michael glanced down at his watch, Caitlin took that as her cue, pitching her voice just enough so that the handful of guests around them could easily overhear. "Tiger, you promised."

Michael stood up, smoothing down his vest as he did. "It's a phone call, Cheyenne. I just need to get an update. I doubt it takes half an hour."

"But-"

"Don't whine. It's tiresome and unattractive. Finish your drink then join me. By then I'll be off the phone."

At his dismissal, Caitlin stood up, putting a little extra drama into her routine as she snatched up her nearly empty glass and headed back towards the bar. "Don't whine, Cheyenne. It's just a phone call, Cheyenne. I promise this weekend will just be about you, Cheyenne." As she slid into the open space at the bar next to Luis, Caitlin let out a vehement, "Liar."

"It's a foolish husband who would ignore such a beautiful woman for work."

Caitlin cut her eyes to the side so she could look at Luis through her lashes then extended her hand, showing its ring-less state. "Oh, please. Michael's not my husband. We're not even engaged."

Luis turned to face her. "Then he is even more a fool to ignore you, when anyone could come and steal you away."

She forced out a bitter laugh. "No need to steal. Sometimes, I doubt he'd even notice I was gone." She made a face. "Especially when Jessica can come by and chat with him." She swung the empty glass between them. "Buy a girl a drink?"

Luis flagged down the bartender and ordered drinks, which arrived soon after. He raised his glass and tipped it toward Caitlin's. "To chance meetings with beautiful women."

Ducking her head, Caitlin let out a small laugh. "You really think I'm beautiful?"

"Certainly. And if your friend can't see that, he'd better get himself a new pair of glasses." Luis slid a bit closer. "So, you were telling me yesterday that he's involved in international trade?"

She shrugged. "Something like that. I don't pay all that much attention. I just know that he's always off traveling, and when he is around, he's on the phone at all sorts of un-Godly hours. He used to wake me up, arguing with whoever was on the other end about shipping schedules and containers and labor. Now I just sleep through the calls." Caitlin pouted, sipping her drink. "Enough about _him_. He's boring. What about you? I don't see a wedding ring on your finger, either. Do you have a girlfriend?"

He answered with a quick shake of his head. "No, nothing serious."

"Working with the Governor, you must be too busy."

"Oh, I think I could make time for the right woman." Luis edged closer.

Stomping down on her urge to back away, Caitlin smiled at him. "They say Nelson might be our next president. It must be exciting, being close to someone so powerful."

Luis laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "Position doesn't always equate to power. If you look around this room-" he made a grand gesture "-the true power doesn't rest with the names you recognize. It's the men behind them, the money men, the king makers. That's where the real power resides."

She sipped from her drink then ran her tongue lightly along her lip. "Is that what you do? Are you a king maker?"

"Time will tell," he answered cryptically. "And for now, the drinks are cold, and the company is—"

"Cheyenne, there you are."

Caitlin jumped at Michael's voice. Distracted by the conversation with Luis, she hadn't noticed his arrival. She remembered that she was supposed to be annoyed with him. "Where did you think I'd be? I'm right where you left me."

Michael scowled. "I thought you were coming back to the room."

"I was talking to Carlos."

"So I see. It's time to go." Michael grabbed her wrist and tugged.

Luis had been watching the exchange, and now straightened from where he'd been leaning against the bar. "Cheyenne, you don't need to."

"No, I'd better. Thank you for the drink," she added, as Michael pulled her away.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

"I'm sorry about manhandling you," Michael apologized as soon as the door of their room shut behind them.

"Don't be, it was perfect. As was your timing. I think I'd already gotten everything out of Luis that I was going to get." Caitlin plopped down heavily on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots, wiggling her toes in the thick carpeting as soon as they were free.

Michael stripped off his tie and hung it over the back of the chair, his jacket and vest both going on hangers. "Anything incriminating?"

"Not directly, but he talked about 'king-makers' and when I asked if he was one, he said that time would tell. I'd bet that Nelson has a pretty good idea of what's going on."

"Most likely," he agreed. Removing his cufflinks, he set them on the desk before lowering himself into the chair with an obvious weariness. "Just who we need running the country."

Caitlin couldn't disagree with that. "You called String?"

Michael snorted. "Santini answered the phone. He was his usual charming self."

"I can imagine." She studied him, the set of his shoulders and the way he held himself. "How's your leg?"

He shrugged. "Sore."

She had no doubt that "sore" was a major understatement. "Go take a nice long, hot shower." She remembered something Sam had told her in the Firm's ladies room during the cruise ship incident. _A day that felt as if it was a decade ago_. "While you shower I'll get you some ice."

"Back to being bossy, I see." That damned smirk was back.

"Not bossy, just sensible. We've still got another day of this to get through."

"For the most part, just another night. Dinner tomorrow and cocktails after. They don't know me well enough to include me in the steering meetings earlier in the day. Other than checking in with Hawke, we should have most of the day to ourselves."

"Can we have breakfast in bed?"

That caused a raised eyebrow but he only said, "If you'd like."

"I would." Not going in search of breakfast would give him a little more time off his feet. "And maybe afterwards I can do a little 'sightseeing' around the grounds and get a photo of Luis." She had hoped to have a chance after returning from the shopping trip, but by the time she'd gotten back Luis had been holed up with Nelson.

He made a sound that she knew meant he wasn't entirely comfortable with that idea. "Luis is dangerous. Don't forget that."

"I don't intend to."

"Good." Michael levered himself to his feet, grimacing as he put his weight on his leg. "I think I will go take that shower." He hesitated. "If the offer still stands, I could use that ice."

"Of course it does." She grabbed a pair of slippers that would serve for a quick trip to the ice machine. "I'll have it waiting for you when you get out of the shower."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Naked, still damp from the shower, Michael pulled a pill bottle from his shaving kit and shook two ibuprofen into his hand. He drew water from the sink into a paper cup and used it to wash them down, hoping they would serve to take the edge off the burning ache that radiated down his leg. There were times when he was tempted to let his doctors prescribe something stronger, but he wanted no part of that trap.

Finishing his nighttime routine, he pulled on a pair of sleep pants, not bothering with a shirt. As he did, he heard the hallway door open and close.

"Michael? Are you about done?" Caitlin's voice, muffled by the bathroom door.

"I'll be right out." He answered, moving his toiletries to the side so they'd be out of her way.

"Bring a dry hand towel with you."

 _Bossy._ Chuckling to himself, he did as she'd asked, taking the towel out into the bedroom with him. "You wanted this?" he asked, handing it to her.

"Thanks. Now go lay down. And don't say it. Don't even think it."

He didn't have to ask what she meant. With a grin, he crawled into bed, propping his back against the headboard and stretching his legs out in front of him.

She took a plastic bag full of ice from the ice bucket and wrapped the towel around it. "You don't need frostbite," Caitlin answered his raised brow. She handed him the towel-wrapped ice. "You know where this will do the most good. If you need more-"

"No, this is fine. Thank you." The ice would help, as had the shower. _She really did spoil him_.

Caitlin circled to sit on the other side of the bed. "You'll never guess who I ran into on my way to the ice machine."

"Luis?" Michael suspected he wasn't going to like the answer.

"Yep. Him and his bodyguard were talking to two other men in the corridor. Definitely not party guests. I'm pretty sure they were speaking Spanish, but I didn't catch what was said, and they broke off their conversation when they saw me."

He could tell from the way she hesitated that there was more. "And?" he prompted.

"Luis made some sort of gesture, I think. In any event, his bodyguard and the two others turned and left. Luis. . . he said that he didn't think much of the way you treated me. I wasn't sure how to play it." She was picking nervously at the edge of the blanket. "I. . . I told him that I'd warned you that if you ever did it again, I was going to leave you."

Michael covered her hands with one of his to still them. "Quick thinking and a good answer. I'll make an operative out of you yet," he teased.

Pulling away from him, she grabbed the pillow from behind her and smacked him with it. "Not on your life. Let me remind you. I – don't – _do_ – white." She punctuated every syllable of the last with another swat from the pillow.

Laughing, he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Only kidding. I swear. Hawke would kill me, anyhow." He turned more serious. "When I call in the morning, I'll have Hawke relay what we've found to the White House. I'm sure they'll bring in the Justice Department. Now that we know how and where to find Luis, it will just be a matter of getting the appropriate warrants and they can pull him and his associates in. Once they do, it should be easy enough to document his relationship with Nelson."

Caitlin turned slightly, so that she could lean her shoulder against the headboard. "What about Zeus?"

He let out a long sigh. That was something that he had already been considering. "I haven't seen anything that points to any improprieties. It's possible that he knows nothing of any of this."

"You don't believe that any more than I do."

 _When had she become so perceptive?_ "If he is involved, Justice may be able to turn up something."

"But you're not counting on it."

"He didn't win his seat on the committee by being indiscreet. Or careless."

"All of this certainly isn't going to improve your working relationship with him, that's for sure. Even if Zeus isn't actually involved, he's still friends with Nelson. I doubt if he'll appreciate you taking his friend down."

He had thought about that, too. In a way, it made things easier. "Cait-" he began.

"Hold that thought." She sat up and slipped from the bed. "That towel looks damp. I think the ice is leaking. I'll get another bag and double bag it."

"That's only condensation. It's not actually leaking. Just dump it out in the tub, if you would. The ice has done all the good it's going to do."

She gave him a skeptical look. "You're sure you don't want me to get more? It's no trouble."

"Thank you, but no. It's fine."

Caitlin took the towel and ice into the bathroom and came out empty handed. "So, what were you saying about Zeus?"

Having had a moment to reflect, he knew that it wasn't the right time to have the conversation he'd nearly started. They still had work to do, and didn't need any distractions. "That things weren't likely to get much worse between us. After all, I did try to shoot him."

"Surely he can't hold that against you? You were drugged."

Michael snorted. "Regardless, it certainly didn't endear me to him. But I'm not going to worry about Zeus and how he'll react tonight. When the time comes that will be dealt with, one way or another."

"Okay. I'm going to get changed." She grabbed the remote from where it sitting on top of the room's small tv set before tossing it to him. "Here, you can catch up on the world."

As Caitlin closed the bathroom door behind her, Michael flipped on the television. It was already set on Headline News, and he left it there, cycling through international and national news until she returned.

When she came out of the bathroom she was wearing one of the resort's plush robes. "Anything on?" She gestured toward the television.

"Not really. Is there something you want to watch?"

She shook her head. "No. It's been kind of a long day. I thought maybe we'd turn in, if you don't mind?"

"Of course, I don't." He switched the tv off and set the remote on the bedside table. "Did I wake you up too early this morning?" he asked, grinning so that she wouldn't take his question the wrong way.

"Yes, but I needed to get up, so I can't blame you." She gave a laugh. "Hopefully you're not going to try to be mister gentleman tonight and sleep on the floor?"

Even if he wanted to, he wasn't sure his leg would have tolerated it. _And he didn't want to_. "Ah, it's a big bed. I think there's room for us both. Unless you're trying to get rid of me?"

"Never. I'll get the lights." Once she had, she came back to the bedside.

By the dim glow from the remaining lamp she slipped the robe from her shoulders. Michael was struck once again by how beautiful she was. _How was it that he'd never noticed until that night at her apartment?_

She crawled into the bed, and he switched off the lamp. This time, there was no pretense of propriety. She snuggled against him. "Sweet dreams," she teased.

He had no doubt they would be. "Good night, Cait."


	13. Chapter 13

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 13**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

The squeak of wheels out in the hallway again woke Michael early. Much like the previous morning, Caitlin was curled into his side, facing him, the fingers of her right hand splayed across his chest. Twisting to see the clock, he noted the hour. There was still plenty of time for him to lie there and enjoy the semi-forbidden warmth of Caitlin nestled against his body.

Using his weight he twisted over from his back onto his side, taking Caitlin with him so that he was now spooned behind her with his arm wrapped snugly around her waist.

Caitlin, still mostly asleep, grumbled at the manhandling. Michael grinned his amusement into the back of her neck. She really wasn't a morning person.

"-icheal?"

His grinned widened. "Sleep. You have some time."

Her response was more a rumble of sound than a word as she dropped back into a light sleep. He just wanted to have the freedom to hold onto her and enjoy the feeling before they both had to go back to reality. Yes, he'd made his decision regarding Caitlin but it would still be a while before plans would be finalized. He wanted no loose ends and it would take time and some delicate maneuvering to ensure that he could make his transition a smooth one. Then there was Airwolf and Hawke. That was a separate headache that would also have to be dealt with. Although, he was contrary enough to admit, at least to himself, that he was looking forward to letting Hawke know that he had snatched up the rather amazing woman that Hawke was too stubborn to see.

This was the last day of the weekend retreat and they would check out early Monday morning. They had the information they needed on Luis. Technically they could leave now, but Michael didn't want to raise any suspicions and the thought of being able to get a photo of Luis before they left was tempting.

Eventually, Caitlin stirred, and he reflexively tightened his arm around her waist. "You awake?"

"Hmm."

He chuckled. "As much as I'd like to spend the rest of morning lying here with you, duty calls."

"Yes, yes," she sighed. "Must protect the fate of the free world."

"Precisely. Go on and get your shower and I'll order us that breakfast in bed you wanted. Do you have any preferences?"

Still grumbling, much to Michael's amusement, Caitlin slid from the bed. "I don't plan on getting dressed in all that white until after we eat so I'm fine with whatever looks good."

As she disappeared into the bathroom, he reached over to snag the room service menu from the bedside table. Calling in an order took only a few minutes, after which he had to resist the urge to get up and get dressed. It wasn't that he didn't know how to relax, or in this case enjoy a lazy morning, but to a large degree he was action oriented. There was always this vague sense that he ought to be doing something productive. At least there was until Caitlin stepped back out of the bathroom and his restlessness changed.

She was once again wrapped in the plush resort robe, the damp ends of her hair brushing along its collar. He knew, without being told, that she was quite naked beneath the thick terry cotton.

He tamped down his desires with a firm shove. _Soon. He'd already promised himself that._ Soon enough, he was going to enjoy lazy Sunday mornings that hopefully would be anything but lazy.

"I'm not entirely sure I like that grin you're wearing. What are you thinking, Michael?"

Cait shifted her weight, almost nervously, and he realized that he'd been caught fantasizing about a future he had every intention of making come true. He gentled his expression to something a little less ravenous. "Just admiring the view."

He was rewarded with a faint blush that stained Caitlin's cheeks and he made a mental note to compliment her more often. Giving her a reprieve, he gestured behind her at the bathroom. "My turn. The food should be here any minute if you want to let them in." When she nodded, he headed into the bathroom.

Returning a few minutes later he found Caitlin sitting on the edge of the bed and hungrily eying a white cloth draped serving cart.

"Ah, you waited for me."

She grinned at him. "Of course. Come join me, I'm starved."

"So," she began, after they had settled themselves back against the headboard of the bed, plates neatly balanced on their legs, "what is the plan for today?"

He swallowed down a sip of coffee. "While I wasn't invited to the more strategic meetings that are happening later this morning and this afternoon, I was asked to attend a potential donor's meeting as well as two other ones."

"You made a face. What are the two others?"

"Surprisingly enough, meetings with businessmen that want to talk about potential contracts using Briggs Industries."

Caitlin coughed in surprise. "Wait, there really is a Briggs Industries? I thought it was all just on paper and fancy shell companies."

Michael laughed. "No, the business is real enough. It's actually where I get a good portion of my money. I just have good people who run it while I stay out of the way. But having a legitimate company worked well as a cover when I was still a field operative and it's useful now for moving people and things in and out of countries where the Firm does business."

"Things?" she questioned with an arched brow.

"Things," was his own deadpan answer.

Caitlin was smart enough not to inquire more and he once again felt that sense of rightness in knowing that she knew when to question and when to leave well enough alone.

"Okay," she said, deftly changing the subject. "While you are off playing the good capitalist, I'll take the camera and wander the grounds. With luck, I might run into Luis. And before you say anything, I will be careful."

"Caitlin."

She bumped her shoulder into his. "No String-level heroics, I promise. Now eat your toast. We can meet up for a late lunch before I have to start getting ready for this fancy dinner party."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin had the camera secured around her neck by its thick strap. What she hoped looked to be an aimless and leisurely stroll around the grounds was really a concerted strategy that kept her circling around the private cabins where the Governor – and she was assuming Luis and his men - were staying.

Every so often she'd stop and take a photo and if there happened to be people in the background, all the better. It was helpful that it was early spring and some of the first flowers of the season were showing their colors, as it gave her a legitimate excuse to be taking pictures. If it had been a few months earlier she'd have had a hard time explaining the need for a camera.

As she wandered down a side path, Caitlin noticed one the men she'd seen in the hallway with Luis the previous evening. He was lurking just at the tree line behind one of the furthest cabins. Pretending not to see him, she continued her path, but wasn't surprised when the man disappeared from sight.

 _Who's the superspy now,_ she thought with a trace of smugness as she slowed her steps and lingered longer with each picture. She wasn't disappointed when ten minutes later Luis and his ever-present shadow emerged from that far cabin and headed towards her.

She crouched down, fiddling with one of the dials on Michael's ridiculously fancy camera and waited.

"Cheyenne, good morning."

She straightened in feigned surprise, a pretty and decidedly false smile in place. "Hey Carlos." She laughed lightly. "Although it's more afternoon-ish than morning, I think."

He inclined his head. "That it is." Reaching down for her arm, he ran his fingertips lightly across her wrist where Michael had grabbed her the night before. "All is well?"

She let out an overly dramatic sigh before removing her arm from his grasp. "I'm fine. He didn't really hurt me or anything. But I decided that we ought to spend some time apart so I grabbed the camera to come walk around and take some pictures." She shrugged. "It may be time to move on."

Luis's eyes sharpened and Cait felt a curl of nervousness in her belly. "You don't think he'll miss you?"

She shook her head. "Regardless of what anyone thinks, I'm not stupid. Michael doesn't love me. If I left, it's not like he'd really care or anything." She pushed down her unease and flashed Luis a smile. "I had a good time and got some lovely parting gifts." She held up the camera in her hands as a pointed example.

That gave her an idea. "Oh hey, I need a picture," she suddenly blurted.

Turning to Luis' shadow, she held out the camera to him. "Can you . . . oh, I never got your name. That was really rude of me."

She waited until the man, with a flick of his eyes in Luis' direction, finally said, "Miquel."

Cait noticed that unlike Luis, Miquel had a heavy Mexican accent. "Hi, Miquel." Practically shoving the camera into his hands, she moved quickly to Luis's side and latched onto his arm, striking a pose. "Take a picture of Carlos and I, will you?"

Miquel hesitated, looking to Luis for some kind of direction.

Luis gave a faint nod. "It won't matter," he said softly.

Caitlin's nervousness intensified. Female, as well as cop, instincts were jarring warning bells in her head. Covering the urge to move away, she retreated into Cheyenne's flightiness. "It's a fancy camera. I don't know why Michael had to get that one. But really, you just have to press the silver button on top and the camera will do all the work."

After the first picture, Caitlin insisted on a second – just in case the first was blurry. Then they continued their walk around the grounds, Caitlin keeping as much distance as she could between herself and Luis without it being obvious. She continued to take random pictures and chattered to Luis about mostly nothing, feeding him Cheyenne's made up Texan childhood and recent life in Los Angeles while Miquel followed silently along behind them. She'd even managed to catch Miquel in one picture, unbeknownst to either man.

Deciding that what she had was enough, she made a show of checking her watch. "Oh, look at the time. I need to get back. I told Michael I'd meet him for a late lunch."

"He does not deserve your time."

"Maybe. But he is my ride home, so I'll play nice." She held out her hand. "Thanks for walking with me, Carlos. It was very nice."

He bowed slightly over her hand, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. "It was my pleasure. I will see you at the dinner this evening?"

"Of course." She pulled her hand free, resisting the urge to wipe her hand on her slacks. "I'll see you later."

When Caitlin returned to the room, Michael wasn't there yet. Deciding to wait there rather than trying to find him, she pulled out the book she'd been carrying around since her initial trip with Michael to Texas. But soon, a restless energy drove her up off the bed. Pacing the room, she caught herself rubbing her hand down the side of her pants and realized that even though she knew she was clean, she felt slimy from Luis's touch.

Giving her still unfinished book a rueful glance, she headed for the bathroom to wash her hands.

"Cait?" Michael's voice called over the sound of running water.

"In here," she called back. "Gimme a second."

Walking out, she noticed Michael sitting on the side of the bed and reading over what looked to be handwritten notes. "Hey."

He looked up, setting aside the papers. "Hey yourself. How did it go?"

She went to sit beside him. "As promised, I did nothing String-like. There were no over the top heroics, no deeds of daring do."

He shook his head in mock exasperation. "Not even one fist fight?"

She snorted. "And get all this white dirty? I think not. I did, however, get pictures of a lot of flowers, a good number of the guests, two pictures of Luis and one of his bodyguard. Whose name is Miquel, by the way."

Michael expression brightened as he laughed. "That is why my operatives are women. And just imagine, you didn't blow up a single thing."

"Well, the weekend isn't over."

He shook his head. "I think the owners will appreciate it if we leave this place intact."

She gestured to the papers sitting on the other side of Michael. "And what about you?"

His expression was a bit rueful. "Well, while you were out saving the free world, I made money. This is actually a good deal and I will be forwarding it on to the President of Briggs Industries for consideration." He tossed the papers back on the bed. "But enough of work, I'm starved. You hungry?"

"Famished."

Michael held out a hand. "Come along then. A late lunch in the dining room to see and be seen and then we can come back here and relax a bit before dinner this evening."

Taking his hand, Caitlin let him lead her out.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

"Damn it."

Michael looked up from the paper he was reading at Caitlin's muffled curse from the bathroom. "Problems?"

Cait's head poked around the door of the bathroom, two bobby pins in her mouth and another in her fingers. Pulling out the ones between her teeth, she glared at him. "Fancy party and fancy dress require fancy hair. Fancy hair means an updo but my hair is really too short for that sort of thing so the back needs to be pinned up and I can't get the pins to stay right."

Michael rose from the bed and motioned her over to him. "Come here and turn around."

When she did, he held out a hand. "Pins."

While Cait fidgeted, Michael deftly caught up the short hairs and pinned them up, tucking the pins in such a way as they couldn't be seen. Giving in to the urge, he leaned forward to plant a single kiss on the nape of her neck, pleased when a shiver ran through her at his touch. "There you go."

She took a step away and glanced at him over her shoulder. "Do I want to know how you know about bobby pins and women's hair?"

He shrugged. "I admit that I have a keener interest in removing said pins than in putting them in, but I've learned a thing or two over the years."

She shook her head. "You . . ." She trailed off as if she wasn't sure what to make of his comment.

"Are you almost ready?"

Caitlin looked down at the bathrobe she was still wearing. "Makeup and hair are done, I just need to slip on my dress. Give me another five minutes."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Michael resisted the urge to pull at the collar of his shirt. It wasn't that he wasn't used to wearing it, he certainly attended enough functions in Washington and the white tuxedo wasn't that much different from the suits he wore on an almost daily basis. No, the uncomfortable feeling crawling along the back of his neck had nothing to do with his clothing. The same instincts that had him waking early in the mornings were now jangling loudly at him. Something was wrong.

Taking a sip of his drink to cover his movements, he scanned the room. Dessert had been served some twenty minutes earlier and the dinner had broken up into small knots of people clustered around the room, stretching and taking a break. In a few more minutes, the Governor would be taking the podium to deliver the final speech of the evening. Michael had left Caitlin at their table to take a walk around the room to stretch his leg and converse with a few of the other guests.

But now there was something, some indefinable tension in the air that set his nerves to singing. Finding nothing, Michael glanced over to where Caitlin had been sitting and frowned when he found her seat empty. His gaze swept the room, hoping to spot her while trying to ignore the ice that settled into his gut.

Unable to find her, he excused himself from his conversation and threaded his way back to their table, handing his drink off to a passing waiter. _Damn it. Where was she?_

As he approached, he spotted the woman who had been serving their table for the evening. "Excuse me, Miss? The lady that was sitting at the table in the white dress, have you seen her?"

The waitress nodded. "Si. Senorita . . .um . . . not well. Enferma."

Michael fought the urge to hurry the woman along as she stumbled through her English and made the decision right then and there that once this was over he was going to work on improving his spotty Spanish. "Did she leave?"

The waitress nodded again with smile. "Si. Nice mans help her . . . fuera . . . uh . . . outside." She pointed helpfully to one of the side doors in the dining room.

 _Fuck._

The icy feeling was spreading as he hurried towards the door, ignoring the people and the voices around him as he pushed his way out through the side door. Darkness met his gaze as his vision took long seconds to adjust after the brighter lights inside.

Taking a deep breath he calmed himself, letting training and decades of experience guide him. Tilting his head forward, he listened to the sounds of the night. Over the sounds of crickets he heard the faint scuff of feet. _There!_ They were using the maze of unofficial employee paths between the buildings. He could barely make out vague figures of three men with something in white being half carried, half dragged between them. _Caitlin._

Michael welcomed the flair of adrenaline and anger that flooded his system as he took off after them. Veering off to the right, Michael pushed himself to move faster, ignoring the fiery pull and stretch of the muscles of his leg as he sought to catch up to the three men.

Keeping in the treeline just behind them, he growled low in his throat as he saw Caitlin stumble and sag between the two men holding her, her legs seeming to give out under her weight. But he felt a fiery pride as he saw her struggle, pulling at the hold of the men.

"How much did you give her?" The shortest one said, jerking hard on Caitlin's arm to pull her forward. "Thought she was supposed be to asleep by now?"

The man pulled a small syringe from his pocket and held it out. "I gave her what the boss said."

So they had drugged her. He knew that she wouldn't be much help in a fight and he wouldn't be able to get much closer without being spotted. His white clothing stood out even in the darkness beneath the trees, and it was likely that the only reason he hadn't already been seen was their preoccupation with the struggling Caitlin. Knowing that he'd have only one shot, Michael let his cane slide though his fingers, shifting his grip until he was holding onto the base. The solid weight of the steel core within the ebony wood casing was comforting and familiar.

 _Now._

Michael sprang forward, sprinting across the remaining distance between himself and the three men. His first swing took out the man at the rear, the solid wet _thunk_ of metal and wood against the back of his head telling Michael that he would never get up again.

The element of surprise gone, Michael spun the cane, the silver handle slamming into the throat of the one who had jerked Caitlin earlier. The man toppled backwards, pulling Caitlin down to the ground with him.

The third man's foot slammed into Michael's side before he could swing the cane again, carrying them both down, the cane jolting from Michael's hand as he hit the ground. Breath whoosing out of him as he hit, Michael rolled and struggled to get back on his feet while keeping thug number three in the limited vision on his right side.

As Three threw a punch, it became clear that he had no training and Michael let a small surge of hope go through him. The other two were dead or, at best, dying. If he could take out this man, he'd be able to grab Cait and make for the more populated areas of the resort. He feigned a stumble. Thug Three closed in and Michael lashed out, grabbing his arm and pivoting on the ball of his foot. Sharp pain flared in his leg but he heard as well as felt the satisfying _snap-pop_ as Three's shoulder dislocated. His short scream was choked off as Michael slammed his elbow into Three's face. Three went down.

Breathing hard, Michael stood still for a moment.

 _Fuck. What had happened? If their cover had been blown they should have gone after him and not Caitlin._

Brushing aside his questions, he grabbed his cane and hobbled over to where Caitlin knelt on the ground, her body listing sideways as she held herself up on one hand.

"-ichael?" He voice was slurred and her eyes unfocused.

He reached out a hand for her. "Cait? Come on, Cait, I need you to stand up. I need you to help me, okay?"

Her head rolled to the side. "Help?"

"Right. Help me. I can't carry you so you're going to have to stand and walk."

She nodded and gathered her legs under her and Michael felt that glow of satisfaction once again. Even drugged and disoriented, Caitlin was still fighting. With his help in balancing her, she rose unsteadily to her feet where she swayed dangerously.

"No, you don't," he said, grabbing onto her shoulder. "Steady on your feet." He met her gaze and gave her an encouraging smile. "You can do this."

It was her widening eyes that alerted him, but it was far too late as he felt something heavy slam into his temple on his blind side. Dazed, he felt something sharp stab into his thigh. Caitlin, a blur of white, was the last thing he saw before darkness closed in on him.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Carlos Luis, standing at the back of the large ballroom, tuned out the Governor as he gave his final speech, having heard the man practice it enough times that he could have given it himself. Everything was working out just as he had planned. Nelson was firmly under his control, the gringos were clueless, and within a few years he'd have control of the American presidency. The true power behind the throne. That, of course, was just part of his plan. He was already grooming a suitable candidate for the Mexican presidency. He smiled, thumb rubbing over his signet ring. His little empire was growing.

One of the far doors opened. He glanced over and saw Pepito step out of the shadows, his face shiny with sweat. Luis's men were hand-picked and utterly loyal to him. All were killers and little fazed them. Something was wrong. His gaze flicked out again to the ballroom.

"What?" he hissed softly in Spanish.

Pepito glanced around. "There was a problem with the girl."

"You left the note in the room?"

"Si. Si. But the man in white followed and attacked. Ramon and Mateo are dead. David is seriously hurt." Pepito shook his head.

Rage filled Luis. "You've collected the bodies?"

"Si."

"The girl?"

"We have her. Him too. We didn't know if you wanted him dead or not. Both are drugged."

Luis nodded, thoughts whirling as he planned. "Wrap up Ramon and Mateo. Take the bodies and our guests to the boat. Keep them both restrained. We'll dispose of the bodies at sea. How bad is David?"

"Dislocated shoulder, broken nose. Maybe more, his face is a mess."

Not something they were equipped to treat. He liked David, he was young and brash, but he reminded Luis of himself at that age. "Take David's wallet and watch and drop him off at the hospital. Tell them he was mugged."

Pepito nodded and slipped back into the shadows while Luis's anger simmered. He turned to Miquel standing at his shoulder. "As soon as Nelson finishes, we steer him back to the room. No lingering."

Miquel, silent as ever, nodded his understanding.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Herding Nelson back to the room took longer than Luis anticipated; a situation he did not appreciate. However, he had always been a long range planner and knew that haste and poor planning had been the doom of many, a fate he had no intention of falling prey to.

"You should have left her alone," Nelson snapped when the situation at hand had been explained. "We are too close now to have everything messed up over some two bit whore."

"Her price would have gone a long way to filling your coffers. Need I remind you that presidential elections are expensive?"

Nelson winced at being reminded of how his campaign was being funded. Luis knew the governor liked to forget, as much as possible, just who his associates were. Luis had no doubts that Nelson also liked to think he was in control of their little "partnership" rather than the other way around.

"Regardless, you should have left well enough alone." Nelson mopped at his face with a handkerchief, the stench of fear rising around him.

Luis stifled the urge to snap at the man. He was useful, he reminded himself, and killing him now would upset a long, carefully planned campaign.

"The woman is not important. It is the man who concerns me. He killed two of my men."

Nelson blanched, the scent of his fear increasing. "The police-"

Luis cut him off. "Don't be ridiculous. If your authorities had any clue they would be swarming the place by now. No, the man – Michael Briggs – is something else. I want you to call your friend."

If anything Nelson's face went even whiter. "Is that really necessary?"

Luis reminded himself again that he needed Nelson. Of course, Nelson didn't need to know that he was the puppet pulled between Luis and the man Luis knew only as Zeus. He and Zeus had a mutual arrangement and both were eager to utilize Nelson once he was in place.

"Call him."

Nelson hesitated then went to the speaker phone on the desk in the room. He dialed a number by memory. On the second ring, a woman's voice answered. She gave no identification but simply asked, "How may I direct your call?"

"I need to speak to Zeus."

"He is unavailable at the moment."

Nelson glanced up at Luis before directing his gaze back to the phone. "This is Governor Nelson. I need to speak to Zeus."

The woman on the end waited for a second. "Hold please and I'll route you through."

Nelson let out a breath. "Thank you."

There were a series of clicks as if the call was being routed multiple times.

The line was finally picked up. "Zeus." Just the man's codename and nothing more.

Luis snorted softly. He and the mysterious Zeus used each other, but he had little patience for what he consisted the other man's ego and theatrics. _Zeus, King of Gods, indeed._ He spoke before Nelson could. "There is a man. Six foot, blond, carries a cane and missing an eye. Calls himself Michael Briggs. "

A hiss was heard over the speaker. "With a female companion?"

"A woman, yes. Cheyenne. Tall, slender and red-blonde hair."

The crackle of static filled the speaker phone. "She's unfamiliar. Certainly not one of his preferred. She's of no consequence."

Luis smiled. "And the man?"

"Your. . . _business_ is not something that would fall under his jurisdiction, so I doubt if this is official. Rather, it would appear that he's sticking his nose into politics now. Briggs has been a problem for a long time. Get rid of him."

The line went dead, the buzzing sound of a hung up call filling the room. "I guess that answers that," Luis said. He turned to Miquel. "Tell the others. We leave in thirty minutes."

"But what about-"

Luis cut Nelson off. "Stay. Play the host with your other guests as if nothing has happened. I will take out our inconvenient trash."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Michael groaned, disoriented and confused. He was used to waking up with pain in his leg, but as he struggled towards consciousness, he couldn't understand why his head was pounding and it felt as if his shoulders were on fire.

"Michael? Michael, can you hear me?"

He frowned. _Caitlin_. Why was she whispering?

Memory slammed into him. The party. Caitlin. Luis's men.

Forcing his eyes open, he blinked into blurry darkness. "Cai-" Her name caught in his dry throat, forcing raspy coughs from him, sending renewed and fiery agony through his head and shoulders and bringing another sharp pain that dug into the left side of his chest.

"Caitlin?" He still couldn't see much of anything. His glasses were gone and he seemed to be half-propped against some kind of pipe, his arms cuffed around it behind him. From his position, he could see little more than the wall in front of him.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered in relief, her voice tired and strained. "I thought . . . the blood . . ." She trailed off and Michael knew what her fears had been.

"I'm okay." It was a lie, but a small one. One he could live with if it erased the worry from her voice. He forced as much of Archangel's authority as he could into his voice. "What's the situation?"

He heard her take a shaky breath somewhere off to his left and slightly behind him, out of his line of sight no matter how far he turned his head.

"I started feeling strange at the party. Like I was drunk. I went to stand up and two waiters appeared. They said something to the table guests and I remember laughter, but then after that everything becomes a blur of half remembered images. I'm . . . well, truthfully I'm not sure if I am remembering or hallucinating. I was trying to get away and someone jabbed something into my arm, then I think I saw you. After that, nothing until I woke up here."

He remembered being stabbed in the leg by something sharp, most likely a syringe. They'd probably given him a heavier dose of whatever they'd given her. Not surprising given the damage he'd done. "Here?"

"Some kind of yacht, as far as I can tell. You were already here when I came to. We were docked for about thirty minutes after I woke up. I could tell from the way the ship was rocking, but we've been headed out to sea. Maybe an hour, and hour and half. It's hard to tell."

Now that she'd pointed it out, Michael could feel a deep bass thrum through the decking he was sitting on. "Have we had any company?"

"Not yet. Michael, what happened? Why did . . . Do you think they figured out who we are?"

"If they had, they would have grabbed us both, not just you. Unless Luis got suspicious of the photography." He knew that Luis was into running more than just drugs, but he didn't want to say what he was thinking.

She figured it out anyhow. "Luis wanted me. Either for himself, or. . . ." He heard her take a deep breath and blow it out. "There's something else. I don't know if I lost it in the scuffle or if one of them stole it, but my bracelet is gone."

He resisted the urge to curse. "If one of Luis's men took it and still has it, directly or not, it will still lead to us." He hoped he sounded more confident in that than he felt. "By now Hawke will have figured out we're missing and called in backup."

"Michael." Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear her. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"

He didn't have it in him to lie to her. "Yeah. You may have been the initial target, but after what I did to his men, I'm sure Luis realizes I'm no ordinary businessman. He can't afford to let either of us go."

"In other words, we're dead." There was an abrupt rattle of metal and she gave a grunt, followed by a low curse. "Damn it."

"Cait? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. They handcuffed me, too. I managed to get my hair-do to fall down and knocked a couple bobby pins loose. I've been trying to pick the lock and I can't get it. I guess I wasn't paying enough attention during those ASDOT classes."

He could tell that she was berating herself about it. "Handcuffs are extremely hard to pick, especially without proper tools. They're not meant to be easy to get out of."

"Can you do it?"

"Given some time, maybe." It had been a long time since he'd practiced those skills. "Unfortunately, my hair's not up." And anything else he might have used - like the frame of his glasses – was gone.

There was a grunt and the sounds of movement. "I think I can throw one of these over to you."

He tried again to twist himself to see over his left shoulder. All it did was to exacerbate the pain in his shoulders and ribs. "Cait, I can't even see you."

"Yeah, but I can see you, and if I can get close enough with this. . . ." There was just the faintest sound of something landing. "Too short. I've got one more, let me try again."

He wasn't at all sure that it was a good idea. "Cait-"

"Closer. I think you can reach that. Move as far back and to the left as you can."

Pushing himself up tight against the pipe, he reached back, fingers groping to find the makeshift pick.

"Another inch or two to your left."

Gritting his teeth, Michael forced his hand in that direction, ignoring the pull on his ribs and the metal cuff cutting into his wrist. Finally his fingers closed around the bobby pin. "Got it."

"Any way I can help?"

Purely by habit, he shook his head, an action he instantly regretted. "No, just give me a little time." Working carefully so that he didn't drop the pin, he got it turned around and situated correctly in his fingers. He fought to concentrate past the throbbing in his temple.

Just as he started to make progress, he heard Cait's whisper. "Shhh. Someone's coming. Play dead."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin wasn't sure Michael would do as she'd asked, but after a second's hesitation she saw him give a minute nod. He slumped convincingly to the side, seemingly unconscious, an image only reinforced by the dried blood that had trickled down the side of his face and matted the hair above his temple.

She forced her eyes away from Michael. The voices she'd thought she heard were indeed getting closer, joined now by footsteps that echoed off the steel decking, keeping her from making out what was being said.

There was the creak of a door being opened and a second light came on, taking what seemed to be the ship's tender garage from nearly dark to simply dim. A moment later Luis and his bodyguard stepped around a piece of equipment, coming into view.

"Carlos, what the hell?" Trying to sound angry and indignant, she jerked her hands, rattling the handcuffs against the pipe she was chained around. She was glad that she'd gotten to her feet to toss the bobby pins at Michael. It put her close to eye level with Luis. "Are you responsible for this?" she demanded.

Ignoring her, Luis circled to where Michael was half-laying. With the toe of his boot, Luis prodded Michael, who didn't react other than to limply slide a bit further toward the ground.

Frowning, Luis turned to Miquel. "¿Cuánto le dieron? "

"¿Y eso que importa?"

"Es que pretendo averiguar cuanto sabe. "

Caitlin's Spanish was rusty, but she caught the gist of the exchange. Luis had asked about what his men had given Michael. Luis wanted him awake so that he could question him. She was glad that she'd told Michael to feign unconsciousness.

Luis turned his attention back towards her. He came close, stopping his advance when he was just inches from her, his breath hot on her skin. "So, _Cheyenne_ -"He spit the name out" _-_ Exactly who are you and why are you here?"

"What do you mean? You know who I am." She jerked the cuffs again, making sure his attention stayed on her. "If this is some kind of kidnapping, you oughta know that nobody is going to pay a ransom to get me back."

He slapped her across the face, hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to do any actual damage. "I know that _he_ -" a quick stab of his thumb towards Michael "-is not what he claims. I know he's government. CIA, I assume. What I don't know is who _you_ are."

Uncertain how to play it, Caitlin decided to stick with her cover. "What do you mean he's CIA? That's ridiculous. He can't be. He owns some trading company. I've heard him on the phone, doing business. Shoot, he was just bragging before dinner about some deal he made this morning."

"A convenient cover, I'm sure. The owner of a trading company could not have taken on three of my men." Glancing over toward Michael again, Luis snarled. "I've spent the last two hours cleaning up the mess he made."

She decided to take one more shot at an innocent explanation. "He's retired military. He told me that he was in 'Nam. Some sort of special forces. He nearly died over there."

"Oh, he did, did he? I have connections who say otherwise."

 _Zeus._ It had to be. But if Zeus had told Luis who Michael was, then he must not have made the connection to who _she_ was. She might be able to take advantage of that. Caitlin made a show of pouting. "All I know is what he's told me. If he's anything else, then he never let on to me."

"So how long have you known him, then?" From his attitude Luis didn't believe her denials, but he did seem to have a speck of doubt. It was at least something she could play to.

"Six months, maybe. He used to come into the club where I was working."

"Club?" Luis asked, with narrowed eyes.

She swayed her hips, slowly and suggestively. "I was working as a dancer. Michael was a special customer. He was a big spender. I liked him."

Behind Luis, Miquel snorted. "Cheyenne. That's a stripper name if I've ever heard one."

"Hey! I'm a dancer. If I happen to take off some clothes while I'm dancing, that doesn't make me any less of a dancer."

"Perhaps you would like to dance for me." Luis ran one finger along her jaw line, as she forced herself not to pull away from his touch. "The way you danced for Michael."

"I could do that." It was a chance to get loose, and maybe with luck, to give Michael time to work on the handcuffs. "But I need music. And it's a little hard wearing these." She tugged on the cuffs holding her own wrists.

Luis gave her an appraising look. He turned to Miquel. "Get her loose."

"Boss, I don't think-"

"Do as I say." Luis's tone left no question who was in charge. He turned to leave. "Bring her to my cabin. If she tries anything, kill her."

As Luis went out the way he'd come in, Miquel pulled a key from his pocket. He started to reach for her, and then paused. "You heard what he said. If you behave, you might live."

Caitlin chanced a quick glance at Michael as Miquel unlocked the cuffs and then shoved her forward. To all appearances, Michael hadn't moved. She'd bought him some time and some privacy. It was all she could do.


	14. Chapter 14

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 14**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

Caitlin caught herself, barely avoiding stumbling as Miquel gave her a shove, hurrying her along. "Hey!" she complained. "This dress and these shoes aren't exactly meant for running."

Miquel did slow their pace slightly, although not as much as she would have liked. In truth, the gown, while long, wasn't _that_ restrictive, but she took shorter steps than she might have and let him think it was all she could manage.

"This way," Miquel ushered her up a circular staircase, through a public lounge and down a short hallway. Pushing through the door at its end, she found herself in a bedroom that she assumed was a part of Luis's suite. Music was playing, something she thought she recognized as being by Laura Branigan.

Just as she started to wonder where he was, Luis entered through a door at the other end of the room. He held a beer bottle loosely by its neck, and he moved to take a seat on the end of the king-sized bed. "So, _Cheyenne,_ are you ready to dance for me?"

She struck what she hoped was a sexy pose, dipping her head and looking at him through her eyelashes. "You want me to dance for you like I danced for Michael?"

He swung the bottle in her direction in a 'go ahead' gesture. "Please."

Caitlin hesitated and then glanced pointedly back over her shoulder at Miquel. "Those were _private_ dances. For an audience of one." _She might, if an opportunity presented itself, be able to take on Luis – but she knew she couldn't fight both of them._

Miquel eyes narrowed at her but he didn't say anything, nor did he move from his spot beside the door.

Luis snorted at the staring contest. "Very well. Miquel, wait outside."

"But-"

"Outside," Luis snapped. "I'm certainly in no danger from . . . this."

The casual way that Luis dismissed her as a source of danger irked her, but nevertheless, she was relieved to see Miquel turn and go.

"Now-" Luis's voice dragged her attention back to him "-you dance."

 _Now,_ she thought, _I do the slowest striptease in history._

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Michael waited for several long minutes after Miquel took Caitlin away. Each second gnawed at his nerves, but he would do this by the book. As wily and creative as any of his agents, Caitlin had given him the time and opportunity to get free and stage a rescue. He wouldn't risk that by acting rashly. So, he continued to lie there, counting the seconds off in his head. At the count of two hundred he was reasonably sure Luis wasn't sending anyone back to collect him for awhile and he carefully sat up. Even that small movement sent his head to spinning. _Definitely a concussion._ He'd had enough of them over his many years of service to recognize the signs.

Forcing himself to relax, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the slim piece of metal in his hands. Prying apart the bobby pin until it was more or less straight, he then used his fingernail to scrape off the tiny knob of silicon at one end. Now sharp and edged, he carefully pressed the tip down onto the hard metal decking beneath.

"Damn it," he swore softly as the thin metal slipped between his fingers and clattered to the floor. Precious seconds were spent feeling around and fighting the pain in his shoulders and side until he lucked onto where the small wire had fallen. Once again he worked to bend the tip slightly. Finally, he was able to shape the metal into a small hook. Sliding it gently into the keyhole of the lock he felt around for the pin.

 _Almost. Almost._

 _There!_

With a gentle and controlled pull against the ratchet mechanism, the metal cuff on his left wrist slid free.

Swinging his arms forward, he hissed as fire flared along his shoulder joints from being stressed in an awkward position for too long. Not bothering to take the time to pick the lock on the right hand cuff, he simply snapped the dangling open bracelet closed over his wrist. If nothing else, the doubled up handcuffs would make a decent enough forearm block if he had to defend himself. Then, gritting his teeth against the pain, he lifted his arms up and swung them back and forth across his chest, forcing blood flow back into the joints and loosening them up. When the fire had gone down to a dull ache, he dropped his arms and struggled up to his feet, swaying dangerously before he found solid footing.

Now to find Caitlin before Luis . . . he ground that train of thought to a halt as rage bubbled up, hot and sharp within him. What had Caitlin told him all those months ago – that she'd rarely seen him out of control – now, he felt his grasp on his control slipping. If Luis touched Caitlin, if he hurt her in any way – again he shut down the thought. He needed a clear head if he was going to save Caitlin and get them both out of this. She'd done her part, now she was counting on him to do his.

Forcing his still hazy mind to focus, Michael once again calmed the anger. He was outnumbered and outgunned. He had no idea where Luis's cabin was and he was in less than optimal shape. Against that, he balanced what few advantages he did have. When he and the Admiral had first set up his cover persona all those years ago, boating had been one of his options for what the Admiral had termed "the frivolous pursuits of the rich." Yachts offered easy access to multiple ports around the world and were a good cover choice. His other option of gentlemanly moneyed excess had been polo. Michael had discovered that boats bored him, but he genuinely enjoyed the game of polo and working with the polo ponies. Polo had become Michael Briggs's signature indulgence, but he'd never forgotten the lessons the Admiral had given him on watercraft. Those lessons had been used more than once over the years. Now, they again stood him in good stead.

Michael knew he was below decks. Down on this level just beyond the tender garage where he and Caitlin had been held would be the engine room, possibly one or two bedrooms, and finally the crew's quarters. From Luis's profile, he knew the man would take the largest VIP bedroom. It would be either on the main deck or the upper deck, depending on how the ship was arranged. Michael just had to make his way there without getting caught.

 _Weapons first_ , he decided, as he looked around. The loss of his glasses was an annoyance, but had a negligible affect on his vision. Prowling between the small tender craft and some wall-mounted storage racks, he spotted a rusty red toolbox on one of the racks, its dented lid propped half open. Rifling through the box, he found an adjustable wrench. He hefted it and swung, the tuxedo jacket he was still wearing pulling across his shoulders with the movement. Dropping the wrench, he stripped off the jacket and then tried the wrench again. Better. Less constriction to his swing and the tool had a good solid weight. The balance was awkward in his hand, but it would do.

Satisfied that he was at least minimally armed, he turned towards the short flight of stairs that led up and out of the tender garage. After only a few steps, he stopped and toed off his shoes. The expensive Italian dress shoes had hard leather soles that made the deck plates ring with each step. Until he could get to Caitlin, stealth was his best bet. A moment later, he bent down to pull off his socks as well, his bare feet providing a much better grip on the metal.

Satisfied, he headed up the steps. _Hold on Caitlin, I'm coming._

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

At the top of the stairs, he leaned against the bulkhead door, listening. He couldn't hear anything beyond, save for the low throb of the engines. Tightening his grip on the wrench, he cracked open the door. Hearing no one, he cautiously stuck his head through. The corridor that ran alongside the engine room was empty. He moved quickly towards its other end.

The fast path up through the decks was to use the aft staircase, but that was likely to see the most use and offer the least cover. The forward stairs would be less busy but he'd have to pass by too many of the cabins. At this time of night he was hoping that most of the crew and Luis's men would be in settling in, but he couldn't be too careful.

He approached the aft staircase as quietly as possibly. Just beyond the stairs was a short central hallway with several cabin doors leading off from it. He paused beside one slightly ajar hatch door. Inside he could hear several voices speaking Spanish and laughing. Taking the risk he glanced in. Five men sat around a table, the middle of the table littered with poker chips. Michael pulled back and did a quick calculation based on his best guess at the size of the yacht. He estimated a crew of eight or nine and accommodations for ten to fifteen guests, although in this case the line between crew and guests would be seriously blurred. He knew he'd already killed two of Luis's men and had, at a minimum, put a third out of commission. Luis, Miquel, these five – maybe ten to fourteen others. With luck, most of those aboard had turned in, and the skeleton night crew would be at their stations and less apt to be roaming the ship. If he could find Caitlin without causing an alarm, then that left only a handful of Luis's men he'd potentially have to avoid. The odds were looking better.

He wished fleetingly that there was a way to lock the men into the bedroom, but knew the hatches weren't designed for that. Instead, he turned back to the spiral stairs and started climbing. If he was right, on the next deck there would be a kitchen and dining area, a lounge, and hopefully Luis's suite.

As he neared the top of the stairs, faint strains of music alerted Michael. Not sure of what he would find, he slowed his ascent. Flattening himself against the wall, he continued to creep upwards then froze as he caught movement.

Miquel stood in the outer salon, looking out into the darkness through a large picture window. His back was to Michael, but the darkness beyond the glass made it into a giant mirror. Any movement on Michael's part and Miquel would see his reflection. There was little hope that Michael would be able to sneak past Miquel the way he had the men below. Staying low, Michael made it halfway across the room before his luck ran out and Miquel spun around.

Both men stared at each other, until Miquel's face split in a feral grin. He didn't ask how Michael had got free, nor did he acknowledge Luis's desire to question Michael. "Gringo, I'm going to kill you."

Michael, his eyes never leaving Miquel, inclined his head slightly. "Better than you have tried."

Pulling his gun, Miquel pointed it, his grin widening. "Says the man holding a wrench to the one with the gun."

One of the first rules drilled into any agent is to own the situation. Michael was too far away to strike with the wrench, and Miquel would be able to get off a shot before he could close the distance. Knowing that as long as Miquel had the gun he was at a disadvantage, Michael did the only thing he could. With a snap of his wrist, he threw the wrench at the hand holding the gun. Even as the wrench left his hand, Michael dove off to the side behind a low couch.

It was a risky move but it paid off as Miquel cursed and a series of thumps sounded as the gun hit the thin carpet and skidded across the floor.

Michael didn't hesitate as he rose and launched himself towards Miquel. Both went down as Miquel was unable to stand against Michael's weight and momentum.

Hitting the floor, Miquel twisted, one elbow slamming into Michael's already bruised ribs. Breath driven out of him, Michael rolled, curling into his side as he struggled to pull in enough air.

Miquel pursued his advantage, falling on Michael and holding him to the floor, his right forearm pressing down against Michael's throat while his other hand pinned Michael's wrist.

Michael struggled to get his hand free, but with Miquel's weight behind him, Michael couldn't get the leverage. His vision starting to go gray at the edges, the fingers of his free hand scrabbling at Miquel's elbow seeking to find purchase against the man's skin.

Adrenaline and desperation flooding his system, Michael gave up on trying to move the forearm choking him, and instead drove his free hand up towards Miquel's face, his thumb digging into Miquel's eye. Flesh gave way with a liquid _squish_ as Miquel reared back with a choked scream of pain. Gulping air, Michael followed Miquel up, grabbing purchase in Miquel's hair. With a grunt, Michael forced the other man backwards and slammed Miquel's head repeatedly against the floor.

Miquel went still.

Michael panted and with only a faint shudder of revulsion, removed his hand from Miquel's blood-soaked hair. Catching his breath, he absently wiped his hand against the other man's shirt. He listened intently. The music continued and Michael breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared no one had heard the scuffle.

Snatching the ring of keys from Miquel's belt, he shoved them into his pocket. There would be time later to figure out which key went to the handcuffs. Staggering to his feet with a grunt of pain, Michael went to search for Miquel's fallen gun. Spotting the gun poking halfway out from under the couch, he scooped up both that and his trusty wrench, then headed toward the source of the music.

Michael heard the other person before he saw him, his off-key and tuneless whistling echoing through the hallway, totally at odds with the music that could be heard coming from the cabin beyond. The dining room had been empty but someone was in the galley. The clatter of pots and pans reached him over the whistling. The chef, or possibly cleaning staff, Michael realized. Unfortunately for the other man, Michael couldn't take the risk of leaving him at his back. Michael tucked Miquel's gun into the waistband of his pants.

There was no explosive jump, nor an unnecessary fight. Michael slipped quietly into the kitchen area. The man, dressed in food stained white pants and shirt, with an apron tied around his waist, never saw Michael nor the raised wrench.

Between Michael's concussion and his somewhat wobbly state, catching the body almost brought both of them to the floor. His shoulders and ribs screamed in protest as the weight dragged at him. Blowing out a breath through clenched teeth, Michael managed to hold onto both the body and the wrench. A quick look around and he found the larder. With a sort of shuffling drag, he maneuvered the body across the galley kitchen and into the food pantry. For a brief moment he contemplated taking the other man's stained apron and hat, but discarded the idea quickly. His own coloring was too wrong to be even briefly confused with the cook, even from a distance.

Hugging his left arm tight across his ribs, he did a quick search. The cook wasn't carrying any weapons. Michael retrieved the gun from his waistband and headed toward the bow.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

"It's been thirty minutes."

String looked up from the automatic he was cleaning, the parts spread across a gun-oil spotted handkerchief laid out on the bedspread. "I know. They could have been held up. He's been late before."

"Not this late."

The plan had been to give Michael and Cait an hour's leeway, but String noted the worry in Dom's unhappy expression. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take the Lady up."

Dom brightened considerably. "Night flights are nice."

String snorted, but made quick work of re-assembling the handgun while Dom fidgeted impatiently. When he was done, he grabbed his jacket and the radio phone before heading out of their no-frills hotel room. The place was small and on the verge of dingy, but it sat off the road and some 300 yards behind it was a small corpse of stunted trees and a wide flash-flood wash that screened Airwolf from the curious. The hiding place wasn't ideal, but they hadn't planned on being here more than three days.

"String?"

He grunted, the noise simply an acknowledgment that he'd heard and was listening.

"I got a bad feeling."

Nodding, he started walking faster. Fifteen minutes later, both he and Dom had changed into their flight gear and Airwolf, whisper-mode engaged, was rising from her hiding place and into the night sky.

"Dom, start the scanners. We'll pinpoint Cait first. Whatever's holding them up, she won't be far from Michael."

As Dom worked the scanners, String turned the Lady towards the resort. The sensors were excellent and had no problems detecting the unique alloy mix used in the tennis bracelet Michael had given Caitlin to wear, but during their tests, they'd discovered that being within a mile gave the best readings. Being further away tended to give false-positive readings as the sensors picked up random electronics that used minute traces of some of the metals used in the alloy.

"She ain't there. String, I ain't gettin' anything."

"What do you mean you aren't getting a reading?" He could hear the rising worry in Dom's voice and truth be told, he was starting to feel that churning in his own gut that said something was seriously wrong.

"I'm telling you, the Lady, she's not picking up anything."

String swore under his breath. _It always went wrong, damn it._

"Call the contact Michael left us. Tell them the situation's gone FUBAR. I'm going to start a spiral search. Where ever they are, they can't have gotten far."

Ignoring Dom's not so quiet, and none too polite, conversation from the Navigation station with Michael's White House contact, Hawke set Airwolf on a spiral search pattern, the sound of the rotors changing pitch as he forced the helicopter into tight arcs above the Texas landscape.

"The spooks are on it," Dom cut into this thoughts.

"Anything?"

"No, nothing yet. It don't make sense. They couldn't have gotten that far away unless they got on a flight or some – hold on. String, I got a faint signal. Head south, bearing one-seventy degrees."

Hawke scanned Airwolf's control panel. "Dom, that'll take us out to sea."

"I know."

They followed the faint signal as it grew stronger. A half mile off the Texas coast, they hovered over the spot where the signal originated. There was no boat. There was nothing but open water.

"Whatever the scanner is picking up, we're right on top of it." Dom's voice cracked. "It's got to be a glitch, or we're reading something else. Maybe some oil rig equipment, right, String?"

"Dom, call the contact back. Tell him to get a Coast Guard ship out to these coordinates and to bring divers."

"String-"

"Do it. And then tell the Feds I want to talk to them."

There was silence behind him for a moment before Dom engaged the radio again. There was a hurried conversation and then a few minutes later, the com crackled back to life. "Zimmer is our guy's name. He's at the resort. He'll be expecting us."

Swinging the helicopter around, he pointed the nose back towards Corpus Christi and once again engaged the turbos. The cockpit was heavy in its silence as each man felt the weight of his grief.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

"Mr. Hawke. Mr. Santini." The black man that stepped forward, hand outstretched, to greet them upon landing looked like an expensively suited businessman, but Hawke knew a Fed when he saw one, nice suit or not. "I'm Agent Mark Zimmer. I want to thank you for your-"

Hawke was done playing nice. "I want to know what's going on."

"Really, Mr. Hawke. You've done your part, let us do-"

Again, he cut him off. "One of my employees was with Archangel. We are a part of this. I am staying until I see Cai . . until this is resolved."

The other man stared at him, before throwing his hands up with a sigh. "Fine. Professional courtesy because I've worked with Archangel before and I respect the man. Don't abuse it or I'll have you booted from the property." He jerked his head to the side. "Come with me. We've set up a command post in one of the unused cabins."

Falling in behind the agent, Hawke fought to keep his temper in check. These weren't Michael's people and they had no relationship with him. He knew if he pushed too hard, they would get removed and right now he needed their intel. Stretching his stride a bit, he fell in next to Zimmer.

"What are you telling the guests about your presence?"

"For now, we've collected the Governor and put him on lockdown. No communication in or out. Not that he's talking at the moment. The other guests were told that there had been a breach in security and that there was a kidnapping. That's actually one of the number one fears of this lot so it's a plausible excuse. The ones we could vet we sent home. Everyone else has been politely asked to stay in their rooms."

Zimmer halted when a young agent came running down the path. He eyed Hawke and Dom curiously but didn't question their presence. "Sir, communications in from the Coast Guard. Their divers pulled two bodies from the ocean. Both male. Hispanic. Not Archangel or his agent."

Hawke closed his eyes briefly at the feeling of relief that went through him. If Michael and Caitlin weren't in the Gulf with the bracelet, then there was a good chance the two of them were still alive. Beside him, String felt Dom bristle. He distinctly heard, "She's not one of his Angels." Thankfully, Dom kept his voice down, at least for Dom, and the two Feds ignored him.

"Tell them to bring the bodies here first. We'll send them on to the morgue afterwards."

Yes, sir." Orders received, the younger agent whirled around and headed back down the path at a slow jog.

"I want to see the bodies."

"They aren't going to tell you much."

"It will at least confirm that one of them is carrying Caitlin's bracelet."

Zimmer shrugged. "Suit yourself. The Coast Guard chopper should be here in about thirty minutes or so. We've got coffee in the cabin."

String nodded and they once again followed Zimmer.

The small cabin was a hive of activity with various agents coming and going. Multiple phone lines had been set up as well as two computers. String and Dom both grabbed cups of coffee and then went to wait on the small porch of the cabin.

Closer to forty-five minutes later, String raised his head. "Incoming," he said quietly.

The Coast Guard helicopter, a much broader and larger helicopter than Airwolf, couldn't land in one of the small clearings that Hawke had chosen for Airwolf. Instead, Hawke guessed it would aim for the large grassy lawn outside the main reception building.

Zimmer stepped out on the porch just was the helicopter came into view above the trees. Heading down the steps he didn't seem to care that Hawke and Dom fell in beside him. "Two things. We found a "Dear John" letter in the room Archangel and Miss O'Shannessy were sharing. It reads as if she was fed up with Archangel and his abuse and was leaving him. We suspect that Luis planned on taking her for his own purposes and left the note as cover. It's pure speculation, but we think Archangel found out and went after her and they made him. We don't know why Luis decided to take him as well rather than just kill him, but it suggests that both of them are alive. Otherwise, their bodies would have been dumped in the ocean with the others."

"That's one," Dom said. "What's two?"

One of my men found that cane Archangel is always carrying – black with the silver handle. It was just off a pathway back between the buildings. There's blood on it so it's evidence for now."

Both bodies had been unloaded and laid out on the grass under the light of a fancy gas lamp by the time they reached the Coast Guard helicopter. With a wave, Zimmer sent them back up in the air as the three of them ducked down against the backdraft. Once it was airborne and they were able to hear again, Zimmer gestured at the bodies. "According to their IDs, Ramon Escalante and Mateo Gonzales. Both have rap sheets and have been in and out of jail since they were in their early teens. Coast Guard printed them and sent off the information before bringing them here."

String crouched next to Escalante for a moment before doing the same to Gonzales. A glint of metal caught his attention. He pointed out the bracelet that was partially hanging from Gonzales's pocket to the others. "Probably took it from Caitlin."

"What are you thinking, String?" Dom asked.

"Michael did this."

"Archangel?" Zimmer seemed surprised.

String nodded. He gestured to both bodies. "Michael prefers to talk his way out of things, but he's more than capable of doing this. There is only one blow on each body. He didn't strike to disable, he struck to kill. Single blow to the back of the head on one, a strike to the throat on the other. That cane of his is heavy."

"That would be consistent with the blood we found on the cane," Zimmer agreed. "The man didn't go down easy."

There was a trace of admiration in Zimmer's voice that made Hawke's anger twist in his gut. Cait should have never been mixed up in this. Standing, he rubbed his fingertips against his jeans. "You might want to check the local hospitals for anyone fitting the description and coming in with wounds from a fight. If Michael killed these two, then someone else got to him. There might be more that are injured."

Zimmer nodded.

"So what now?" Dom finally asked.

Zimmer answered. "Given that the bodies were dumped in the Gulf, we're going on the assumption that Luis is heading back to Mexico aboard some type of boat. We've checked the registries but nothing comes up under Luis's name. So now we wait and search. The Coast Guard is running patrols for both air and water."

"String?"

"Yeah," String nodded. Turning to Zimmer, he added, "We can cover more ground than a Coast Guard chopper. Give us a contact we can vet the ships against and we'll work with you and the Coast Guard."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin cursed under her breath. Wearing a halter-top formal gown, she didn't have many clothes to remove before she'd be completely naked, a situation she definitely didn't want. Knowing she'd have to stretch out each tantalizing move as long as possible, she started with what she hoped was a sexy hip-swaying dance, brushing her fingers along her sides and up over her breasts before sinking her fingers into her hair.

Remembering Michael's comment about removing bobby pins, she searched for and found the last pin, still tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. She pulled it loose and ran her fingers through her hair before sauntering closer to Luis to drop the pin in his lap. When he reached for her with one hand she wagged a finger at him with a _tsking_ noise and skipped backwards. "Patience, Carlos. Good things come to those who wait," she cooed.

Making a show of turning her back to him she increased the sway of her hips as she raised her arms up in a sensuous stretch. She used the time to quickly scan the room, getting the layout and looking for anything she could use as a weapon. There wasn't much on her side of the room.

Tossing a flirty smile over her shoulder Caitlin sent a mental plea to Michael to hurry. With her back still towards Luis, she reached up and backwards, toying with the tiny buttons at her nape that held the halter of the gown closed. She made sure to pause between each button. Taking a breath and hoping to control her blush – because a professional stripper certainly wouldn't blush – Caitlin released the last tiny pearl button.

Luis made a noise as the fabric slid down over her shoulders, probably in disappointment, she thought, considering the sliding fabric revealed the band of the strapless bra she'd been wearing under the dress.

Taking another deep breath she reached once again behind her and snagged the short zipper that was the only thing keeping the dress around her hips. With a shimmy, she eased the zipper down and let the dress pool around her feet. She was down to only her bra, panties, thigh high stockings, and her shoes.

 _Michael!_ she wailed silently, _now would be a good time_.

With one last look over her shoulder Caitlin turned around to face Luis and sauntered back towards him, her steps in time with the driving bass beat of the music. Lifting a foot upwards, she planted one pointed stiletto on the bed between Luis' outspread legs. It didn't take him long to get the hint, his outstretched fingers running up her calf in a parody of a lover's caress. As he brought his hands down, he removed her shoe and tossed it to the floor beside him.

Trailing his fingers back up her leg, he hooked both of his index fingers in the top of her stocking before slowing pulling the silky material down her leg. Cait forced a smile. She'd bought those stockings with thoughts of Michael in her mind and now having Luis be the one to remove them sent a wave of revulsion through her.

With a feigned giggle, Caitlin made a show of switching legs and planting her other foot. This time, she bent forward, keeping Luis's gaze firmly on the curved tops of her displayed breasts as her fingers trailed along her skin. She slipped off the shoe, dangling it by the stiletto heel from one finger. With a flip, she caught the toe. Then, instead of tossing it aside as Luis had done, she brought it in a sweeping arch against his head.

Cait had been aiming for his temple, but Luis got his arm up to perform a partial block, the spiked heel only grazing his forehead.

"Bitch!" he growled out, pushing her sharply away from him.

Caitlin stumbled backwards but kept her feet. Baring her teeth in challenge, she didn't bother responding but simply launched herself at him, knowing she wasn't going to get a better opportunity.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Over the sound of the music, Michael heard a faint _thump_ from Luis's suite. Fearing the worst but not wanting to endanger Caitlin anymore than necessary he forced himself to ease the door open slowly, peeking around the jam instead of bursting in.

The sight that met his eyes had him pushing forward into the room, gun in hand. Cait, wearing nothing but her bra, panties and one stocking was locked in a struggle with Luis. Michael knew Caitlin to be adept at martial arts, but at the moment Luis had the advantage. Biting down a curse, with his left hand Michael reached for the wrench he had tucked into his belt. He wanted to avoid gunfire, if possible. Their best bet was to get back off the ship with none of Luis's crew the wiser. The only way to do that was to sneak back down to the tender garage and steal one of the smaller craft. Gunfire, however, would alert everyone that things were amiss.

Coming up from behind as Luis blocked one of Caitlin's blows, Michael raised the wrench. Luis, however, sensed him and whirled. He might not have felt threatened by Caitlin, but faced with two opponents, Luis reached for the gun he carried at the small of his back.

With no choice, Michael made an instant decision. Dropping the wrench, he fired his own weapon before Luis could.

Blood sprayed across the room as Luis fell back onto the bed.

"Michael?" Cait panted. "You okay?"

He nodded. "I've been worse. You?" He noticed the red marks where she'd blocked Luis's blows showing up starkly against her pale skin. Those would turn to ugly bruises soon.

"I'm okay. Do we have a plan?"

Michael stripped off his shirt and handed it over to her, leaving him in his undershirt. "Had a plan, but with that gunshot we're going to have to make adjustments." He gestured towards Luis's pistol. "Grab that. We don't have much time before someone comes to investigate."

Cait, now clad in Michael's shirt, popped the clip from the pistol. "The idiot. Who carries half a clip?"

Michael nodded. "Mine was full, but we're going to have to be judicious with the gunfire. Too many people below, we'll be cut off from heading back down to the lower desks." He headed towards the door and glanced back out. "Clear."

At his signal, she moved out through the short hallway into the larger lounge, doing a sweep as she'd undoubtedly been taught by the Texas police. "Clear," she called softly, ignoring Miquel's body.

Michael nodded. "The bridge is above us. We make our way there. At this time of night it should only be crewed by one, maybe two, people. Our best bet is to take the high ground, radio Hawke and hunker down for a siege until Airwolf can arrive."

Cait was about to say something when a head poked cautiously above the spiral stairs leading down. She fired off a shot and the head ducked back down. "They're onto us."

"This way," he said, gesturing her towards the hatch that led out onto the deck.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

The night air was damp, and given Caitlin's current state of undress, had a bite of chill to it. She ignored that, instead taking a quick moment to survey her surroundings. She couldn't see the shore, but the soft glow that colored the night sky behind them could only be the lights of Corpus Christi. The distance agreed with her estimation of how long they had been underway.

She came to an open staircase and started climbing. From somewhere below, she heard muffled shouts, and from much closer, Michael's low voice. "Keep moving but stay down." He followed as she scampered to the top of the stairs then he pushed her behind the slight cover that a hanging life ring afforded.

Caitlin crouched, flattening herself as best she could against the structure of the ship behind her. A gunshot rang out, too close for comfort, thudding as it hit something nearby. Beside her, Michael fired, the answering scream and curse suggesting that his shot had probably connected, although likely without doing grievous harm. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep their opposition at bay, at least for a few minutes. "Now what?" she whispered.

A quick wave of the weapon he held in the direction of the bow. "There'll be a hatch opening into the wheelhouse. You're going to cover me while I make a dash for it. Hopefully Hawke's already in the air looking for us. If he is, it won't take him long to get here." He started to rise.

"No." She pulled him back down beside her. "You cover me. I'll go."

"Cait-"

"We've already had this talk. The one about utilizing resources." She'd seen the way he was holding his arm close to his side, and while she knew even minor head wounds tended to bleed substantially, she had no idea if there was more damage than just the gash to his temple. She didn't doubt that so far adrenaline was keeping him going, but there was a limit to how long that would last. "Michael, I can move faster than you can, and you know it."

He hesitated, and she thought he was going to argue. "Damn it, Michael, it's the best way."

He made a growling noise low in his throat. "I know that."

She spared him a smile of sympathy. "You just don't like it."

There was just enough moonlight for her to see his scowl. "No, I don't like it. But you're right."

Seeing she had his agreement, she raised up slightly to get a better start for her lunge. She paused when she felt Michael's hand on her arm.

"Cait this is horrible timing and you're going to believe that I'm saying this just because . . . But I'm not. I'd already made up my mind. After this mission I was going to . . . I want this, I want us, Caitlin. And if it takes walking away from the Firm to do it, then so be it."

It was the last thing she'd expected him to say. "Michael-"

"I know." He cut her off. "Lousy timing, but I wanted you to know. Just be careful. Please."

Abruptly, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was hard and fast and over way too quickly. "That goes for you, too."

He gave her a short nod, and lifted the pistol. "Go. I'll cover you."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin took off, ducking low to present as small a target as possible. As she did, Michael loosed a round toward the stern of the ship, aiming toward his best approximation of the aft staircase. There was no shout or answering volley, but he heard a scurrying in the darkness, most likely the opposition ducking for cover.

Behind him, toward the bow, there was a muffled gunshot. _Caitlin_ , he knew, but not whether she had been shooter or victim. Every fiber of his being wanted to race to the wheelhouse to be sure that she was safe, but he forced himself to remain where he was. She was relying on him to cover her return, and getting himself shot wouldn't help her.

 _What was taking so long?_ Seconds stretched into long minutes. _What was keeping her? Was she having trouble operating the radio? Contacting Hawke?_ He wouldn't let himself consider other, even less appealing, possibilities.

Somewhere far below him, the more felt than heard throb of the engines changed pitch, and then fell silent. A moment later, there was another muffled shot, and the sound of a hatch opening.

There was shouting in Spanish from the stern, drawing his attention back there, and he fired off another round, conscious of how few bullets he had left. A hearty laugh accompanied more indistinct sounds of scurrying. Luis's men were getting bolder, probably surmising that he was almost out of ammunition. They wouldn't wait much longer before making their move.

"String's on his way."

Michael breathed out a sigh of relief as Caitlin crouched down beside him. There was so much he wanted to say, but it would have to wait. "ETA?"

"Five to ten minutes. I shut down the engines and put a round through the controls. Should keep them from going anywhere for awhile."

There were more sounds from the rear of the ship. "I don't think we've got that long. They'll try to rush us."

"I'm out of ammo."

He'd kept a running tally in his head. "Two left." It wasn't going to be enough.

"Can you swim?"

"What?" The unexpected question took him a moment to process. "Yeah. Why?"

"Because on three you're going to fire off those last two shots and we're going to jump. We'll show up on the scanners and Hawke can pull us out of the water." She hesitated. "Ready?"

There were a dozen reasons why it was a horrible idea, but he didn't have a better one. He raised his weapon, pointing it toward the rear of the boat. "Ready."

"One, two, _three_!"

Michael fired off the remaining shots, and then dove forward, vaulting the railing, sensing Caitlin doing the same beside him.

It was a long way down to the water, and he hit hard, something in his left leg giving even as the impact drove the air from his lungs in a shout of pain. Momentum carried him deep beneath the waves. Desperate for oxygen, he kicked one-legged toward what he hoped was the surface.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin gulped in air as she broke the surface. It took her a moment to orient herself in the darkness, a moment interrupted by the sharp _thwack thwack_ of bullets hitting the water near her. _Shit._ Luis's men weren't about to let them go. She ducked beneath the waves, putting as much distance between herself and the boat as she could before resurfacing.

When she did, Airwolf was above her. Knowing that String would be expecting to find them on the boat, she waved her arms over her head, hoping that he and Dom would spot her. A moment later her efforts were rewarded by a slight waggle of the helicopter's winglets, as String turned the Lady's weapons toward the yacht.

 _Where was Michael?_ She looked around as best she could. "Michael?" she yelled over the roar of Airwolf's engines and the sound of gunfire as String kept Luis's men busy. It didn't take long for them to realize they were outgunned and to take cover below decks. No longer having to worry about getting shot, she kicked her legs out, swinging around in the water, looking for Michael, searching for any speck of white within the churning waves.

Panic flared in her and she yelled his name again. She'd heard his scream of pain as they'd hit the water. It would have been too easy for him to lose consciousness and slip beneath the waves, or to have been hit by one of the shots Luis's men had fired at them.

Buffeted by waves and the powerful downdraft of Airwolf's engines, Caitlin glanced upwards to see Dom hanging out the open doorway of Airwolf. He was pointing to something over her shoulder. Spinning around again in the water, she struck out with broad strokes, kicking her feet hard. As the next wave crested beneath her, she spotted white.

A moment later, she'd reached him. He was conscious and treading water, but his temple was bleeding again and he looked exhausted. "Okay?"

He gave a single nod in answer. As he did, Hawke brought Airwolf down until her belly was scraping the waves. Dom leaned out the open door, extending his hand. "You first," Michael pushed her toward the opening.

"But-" she started to argue.

He gave a shake of his head. "Going to need your help."

The admission scared her. Without further protest, she took Dom's hand and let him pull her up so that she could reach a handhold and haul herself into the back of the aircraft. Immediately, she turned and braced herself against the side of the doorway, reaching for Michael. She grabbed one hand and Dom the other, and between the two of them they dragged Michael inside.


	15. Chapter 15

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 15**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

As they tumbled backwards into Airwolf, Caitlin heard Michael give a strangled groan. That, coupled with the scream she'd heard as they jumped, told Caitlin that Michael was seriously injured.

Dom thrust her helmet into her hands over the co-pilot's seat as String raised Airwolf smoothly up into the air. Still kneeling on the floor behind the engineering console, she jammed it onto her head, making a face as her wet hair squished around her. Even as she was keying the mic, Michael's hand shot out to grasp her wrist. "Don't," he paused, a grimace of pain crossing his face before his continued, "Don't destroy the boat. Evidence. Call the Coast Guard."

Michael's hand held tight until she nodded. Personally, she'd like String to plant two Stingers into the hull of the ship and watch it blow sky high, but knew that Michael was right. "String, Michael doesn't want you to destroy the yacht. Just call it in to the Coast Guard. I shot up the throttle, they won't be going anywhere for awhile."

"Already done," Dom answered. "They're on their way." Dom twisted around future in his seat so he could see her better. "You okay, kid?"

She nodded out of habit. "Yes, a few scrapes and bruises, but I'm okay. Michael's hurt though. I think it's pretty bad although I don't know for sure yet."

String cut in on the channel. "I'll set a course for the hospital in Corpus Christi."

"Hold on. Let me tell him."

She slid off the helmet so Michael could hear her. "Michael, we're heading to the hospital in Corpus Christi."

He opened pain glazed eyes. "No. Go the Firm's clinic in LA."

"What? No. That'll take too long."

When he spoke his voice was quiet. "Cait, I screwed up my leg. I felt it give when we hit the water."

Fear shot through her. _Oh, God_. "Michael-" She bit off her words. No coddling. Instead she nodded. "I'll tell String."

After relaying the information that Michael wanted them to head directly for LA she told the two men that she was going to change and get Michael comfortable for the ride. Once she was sure they were focused on flying, Caitlin pulled out a bag of shop rags that Dom kept in a storage compartment for emergencies, along with her spare flight suit and a pair of sneakers. With a sigh of thanks she stripped out of Michael's wet shirt along with her strapless bra. Her one remaining thigh-high stocking had disappeared somewhere in the ocean and she didn't regret its loss. Using one of the rags, she dried herself off the best she could. Ignoring the sticky salt feeling of her skin, she pulled on her flight suit.

Michael was still sprawled in the cramped aisle beside the engineering console. Scooting as close to him as the narrow space allowed, she leaned over him. "Michael, can you hear me?"

His eyes didn't open this time but he nodded. That was enough for now she decided.

"I'm going to get you out of your wet clothes." Again he nodded and she proceeded to strip away his wet t-shirt, hissing in sympathy at the dark bruises that contrasted heavily against his pale skin. "Jesus, Michael."

"It's not as bad as it looks." He was trying to joke with her but the strain was evident in his voice.

She reached for the fastening of his pants and then got a good look at his leg. The material of his pants was stretched tight as his knee had started to swell. She wouldn't be able to pull down his pants and remove them without causing him even more pain. Rising up on her knees she pulled down the first aid kit and rooted around in it before coming up with a pair of scissors.

Distracting Michael from what she was about to do, she said, "You are horrible liar."

He hissed out a breath in a wheezy laugh. "I'm an excel-" He paused to take a ragged breath. "Excellent liar."

Cutting along the seams, she hummed in disbelief.

"How bad?"

She pulled away the material.

"Cait?"

"I . . . I don't know. It's swollen and already turning purple with bruising. Should I splint it?"

"No. I'm not planning on moving. Just gather up the wet clothes and pile them on top of my knee. The cold water will help with the swelling."

She did as he'd asked, then taped a bandage over the wound to his temple. Once done, she dried him off the best she could then draped the space blanket from the first aid kit over him to help keep him warm, settling in next to him on the floor. Reaching out she grasped his hand, once again leaning close so he could hear her. "You still with me?"

"Always. Trust me, Cait. It'll take more than this to get rid of me." His other hand reached up and caught her behind the neck and pulled her the last few inches until her lips met his.

As wonderful as his lips felt on hers, this wasn't the time or place. Squeezing the hand she was still holding, Cait sat back up, very conscious of Dom and String only a few feet away. Just the thought of either of them catching sight of that kiss made her nervous, but she didn't drop her hold on Michael's hand. Her thumb stroking across the skin of his knuckles, she settled in to wait out the flight.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin fidgeted impatiently. Hawke was using the turbos, but even so, it was still just over a two hour flight from the gulf back to LA. Regardless of what Michael wanted, she kicked herself for not insisting that they take him to a local hospital in Texas. She felt his hand tighten on hers every time they encountered turbulence, although he never made a sound of complaint. "We'll be there soon," she told him, leaning close and pitching her voice to be heard over the sound of the engines.

His eyes opened at her words. He simply nodded once, then leaned back and reclosed his eyes. Caitlin wasn't sure whether shutting out the world was his way of dealing with the pain, or if it had more to do with his missing glasses. She had come to realize that the glasses, much like his wardrobe, were the armor that Archangel hid behind. Even with her, he seldom took them off, and she was fairly certain that Michael had noticed Dom's startled stare when he'd reached down to fish them out of the gulf. She didn't have to feel the tension in his muscles or see the way he clenched his jaw to know that between the pain and being stripped of his usual props, Michael was feeling vulnerable and he didn't like it one bit.

It seemed like an eternity before Hawke brought Airwolf in for a landing at the Firm's private medical facility, wheels touching down on the helipad with just the slightest bump. He shut the helicopter down, pulling his helmet off as the blades coasted to a stop. "Dom."

Removing his own helmet, Dom glanced back over his shoulder. "Yeah. Cait's gonna need a hand with him." He patted the dashboard possessively. "I'll stay here and take care of our Lady."

Hawke gave Dom a short nod of acknowledgement and got out, circling around the nose of the aircraft and opening the co-pilot side hatch even as several scrub-suited nurses approached with a rolling stretcher.

From his position beside her, Michael spotted it at same time Caitlin did. He scowled, wrapping the silvery emergency blanket he'd been covered with around himself and tying it. "I don't need a damn gurney."

Caitlin squeezed past him to where she could help him out of the helicopter. "Well, you're certainly not going to walk on that leg."

Hawke had taken a position on Michael's left side. "We'll lift you down. Put your weight on us."

She saw the grimace as the agent wrapped one arm around Hawke's neck, the other around hers. Hawke hadn't seen the red and purple mottling she'd found when she helped Michael remove his wet t-shirt. "Watch his ribs, String."

"Just some bruises. I'm fi-" His words cut off abruptly and he hissed out a breath between gritted teeth as they lowered him from the helicopter.

With the aid of the nurses, they maneuvered Michael onto the stretcher, and the nurses started pushing him toward the building. Caitlin started to follow. "Cait?" Hawke called out.

She slowed a half step, twisting to toss her words back over her shoulder. "I'm going to stay with Michael." _Let Hawke think what he might._ She hurried to catch up.

Once inside, the nurses insisted that she wait in the waiting room while they wheeled Michael in to be examined. Worried, she nervously paced the length of the room then back. As she completed her second lap, Hawke joined her.

"You haven't heard anything." It was a statement, not a question.

She shook her head. "No." Still too tense to sit, she wandered aimlessly around the room. The irony wasn't lost on her that she'd often yelled at Michael for doing exactly the same thing she was doing. _But then, her leg wasn't held together with bits of metal._

Hawke's hand on her shoulder pulled her to a halt. "Tell me that what went on between you two on the way back was just you showing your gratitude."

"What do you mean?"

"You kissed him."

 _Shit._ Caitlin let out a deep sigh. "You saw?"

"Dom did. Tell me it was just gratitude," he repeated, a faint note of desperation creeping into his voice. "Gratitude. Your way of saying thank you. Relief. Adrenalin. . . ."

"Gratitude?"

"After Michael missed check-in and we realized that the two of you had gone missing, we ran a metallurgic scan for the bracelet. When we found it in the gulf, we thought. . . ." He blew out a huff of breath. "Luckily the water wasn't deep and the Coast Guard was able to send divers down almost immediately. They recovered the bodies of two men. Once we saw their injuries, I knew it was Michael's work. On a hunch I told the Feds to check the local hospitals. They radioed us just before we got the call from you. Sure enough they found another one of the 'waiters' from the resort. He admitted to being one of the ones who took you, and said that Luis had planned to dump the bodies of the others."

Caitlin tried to put the pieces together - what Hawke was telling her, the little she remembered and what Luis had said about Michael taking on his men. "Bodies? You're saying Michael killed them?"

"You didn't know?"

Something in Hawke's words made her raise her eyes to his. There was distrust there, as if he didn't believe her. She swallowed down the hurt. "I was drugged, String. I hardly remember any of it. Luis said that Michael defended me, but. . ." She shook her head. Michael had taken on at least three of them, had killed two before they got the best of him. No wonder that they had beaten him so badly.

Emotions played on Hawke's face. Anger. Disgust. Others that Caitlin couldn't identify. "So it wasn't gratitude, then?" His voice was hard and cold.

"No." She looked down at the chipped remains of her manicure before once again meeting his eyes _. If I can't even stand up to Hawke, I've got no business being with Michael._ "Michael and I are. . . involved. I'm in love with him. And he's-"

Hawke cut her off. "You think you are."

Her own anger stirred. "I am. And the feelings are mutual."

It was clear from his expression that Hawke didn't believe it. "You really believe _Archangel_ is in love with you? That he even knows what that means?" He let out a mocking little laugh. "You two were supposed to be lovers, and he's simply been playing the part. Pretty convincingly, I guess, if even you believed it."

"String, it's not an act. This started months ago."

"You and Michael?" Hawke stared at her in disbelief. "You've been going behind my back for months? Lying to me? To Dom?"

Only the real hurt and sense of betrayal she could see in Hawke let her keep a tight rein on her own temper. But even so, her fists clenched and her nails dug into her palms. "We haven't lied to you. It wasn't . . .it didn't start . . ." Her words tumbled to a stop. She didn't know to explain and part of her whispered that it was none of his damn business anyway. "Oh hell. It started after Sawyer," she repeated. "We were both there with that bomb and that night I needed someone and he _got it_." She let out a choked little laugh. "I even kissed _you_ afterwards, but all you saw was the kid sister who needed protecting. That's all you've ever seen. Michael saw _me_ and he understood what I was feeling."

He made a noise of disbelief. "So that's it? He _saw_ you?"

Caitlin narrowed her eyes are him. "You're angry, I get that. But no one's betrayed you here. I love him and he-"

" _Right_. He loves you."

Cait didn't answer, just continued to hold her stare until Hawke ran his hand through his hair in an agitated fashion as he tried to get his own emotions under control.

"Even if you do, even if he does - the Firm will never allow it. Not with his connection to Airwolf - and yours. Are you planning to give her up?"

"If it came to that, I would. But no, I'm not. Before we went overboard, Michael said he'll quit if he has to."

Hawke raised an eyebrow, surprise registering on his face, but changed the topic. "Jumping overboard. Was that his idea?"

"Mine. It was going to take too long for you to get to us and we were out of ammo."

Hawke scrubbed his hand up through his hair again. "It was a good call." The words were slightly conciliatory and Caitlin took it as the olive branch that it was. But Hawke was still angry, at her and at Michael, and she knew this wasn't over yet.

Hawke glanced away and then back to her. "I'm going to go put the Lady away. I take it you're waiting here?"

Caitlin wished she was sure that diving off the boat had been the right decision. Maybe there'd been some other option that she just hadn't seen. _If it turned out that Michael had done permanent damage to his leg. . . ._ "I'm not going anywhere until I know he's alright."

Hawke nodded. It was obvious that he wasn't happy, but at least he wasn't continuing to argue with her. "I'll stop back later, if you need a ride." _Even angry with me, a gentleman to the core_.

"Thank you." She turned to watch him go, sighing. Hawke knew. Dom knew. Given the hospital's association with the Firm, she was certain that the committee would know soon. _So be it. She'd fight them all if she had to._

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

A youngish man who might have been either a nurse or an intern stepped through the swinging doors, glancing around the waiting room until his gaze fell upon her. "You're Caitlin?"

"Yes."

"You can see him now."

They were the words Caitlin had been waiting to hear for nearly an hour. She sighed with relief. "Where?"

"I'll take you to his room."

He led her deeper into the facility, through its confusing twists and turns before stopping at a nurse's station. On the other side of the hallway behind a wall of windows were a row of patient rooms, most of them unoccupied. There was only one room that she was interested in, though, and she hesitated for a moment outside of it, looking in at Michael through the window.

The sight of Michael reclining motionless in the hospital bed sent an unexpected surge of emotion racing through her. _How much time had he already spent in this place?_ Moisture threatened to flood her eyes, but she fought it, blinking tears away until she'd regained control. She knew Michael would give her hell for feeling sorry for him.

His injured leg was raised, tenting the blanket that covered it, and his missing glasses had been replaced by a simple eyepatch. Above it, the wound to his temple had been re-bandaged and someone had cleaned the blood from his face and hair. The bruise remained; if anything, it had only darkened since she'd last seen him.

Steeling herself, she pushed the door open and slipped silently into his room. "Michael?" she asked softly, not wanting to wake him if he was sleeping.

He turned his head so he could see her. "Cait." A gentle curl of his lips accompanied her name. "I told them to send you in."

Caitlin circled the bed so she was on his right side. _She wanted to kiss him._ Conscious of the wall of windows and the nurse's station beyond, she simply ran her fingers lightly down the uninjured side of his face, a small knot of tension easing within her stomach when he turned into her touch. Michael might have told her that he no longer cared who knew about their relationship, but Hawke had planted seeds of doubt, seeds that had sprouted and grown as she waited to see Michael. As much as she might want to do it, kissing him could end his career. She wasn't going to be the one to make that decision. "How do you feel?"

"Fuzzy. They gave me something." He scowled. "I hate taking that shit, but. . . I feel a lot better than I did. The resident down in the ER sent me for x-rays then put some sort of brace on my leg. Nobody will tell me anything, just said that Moore is supposed to be on her way in. So I guess we wait." He snagged her hand with his. "Meanwhile, come here."

"Hmm?" She was already standing right beside the bed.

"No, come _here_ ," he repeated, tugging on her hand until she bent down, leaning over him. Releasing her, his hand moved to the back of her neck, and he pulled her down the rest of the way until their lips met. "And you," he said, when he finally released her, "are better medicine than any drugs."

Caitlin's gaze flashed to the window. It didn't appear anyone was looking in their direction. "Michael, we shouldn't. There are nurses out there right across the hall. If they see us, I'm sure word will get back to the committee."

"Then let's give them something to talk about." He gave her a lazy smile as he reached for her, but she pulled back. "Cait?"

She didn't want to pull away, but she wasn't willing to risk letting him do something he'd later regret. "This. . . us. . . I'm not sure it's a decision you should make while you're under the influence."

He chuckled at that. "You don't last long in the intelligence business if you start spilling state secrets after a couple drinks - or a dose of painkillers. I might be a little buzzed, but I know exactly what I'm doing." Michael reached for her again, pulling her down into another kiss. This time she didn't resist. When he finally released her, he continued. "Besides, I made that decision when you slept in my arms and I realized just how much I wanted you there." He indicated the chair behind her with his chin. "As you're so fond of telling me, sit."

"Now who's being bossy?" she asked, unable to keep the smile from her lips. Despite her words she pulled the chair closer and did as he'd asked.

"I never claimed I wasn't." He reached through the bars of the bed, taking her hand again. "Cait, maybe I should have told you then, but I had to see the operation through. Luis and what he was doing with Nelson had to be stopped, and neither of us could afford to be further distracted. But I knew that just as soon as it was over. . . .I've given the Firm more than twenty years of my life. They took my eye and damn near took my leg. I won't let them take you, too."

She took a deep breath. "I could stop flying Airwolf. Quit working at Santini Air, even."

"No. As much as a part of me would like nothing more than to see you safely away from that helicopter, I'm not going to ask that. For one thing, it wouldn't be fair to you. For another, Dom's not getting any younger. Sooner or later, Hawke's going to need you as a co-pilot."

She winced. "Speaking of Hawke, he's not very happy with either of us at the moment. He knows about us."

"Mr. Obtuse finally figured it out?"

"No, Dom saw us kissing."

"Good." His fingers still holding hers, his thumb idly traced circles on the back of her hand. "Perhaps now they'll both get it through their heads that I'm not trying to recruit you." His grin turned darker and Caitlin sucked in a breath at the blatant desire in his gaze. "Although, I must admit that I like seeing you in white. I don't suppose I could convince you to wear it, at least occasionally?"

Caitlin smiled. "Special occasions. Maybe." She turned more serious. "What are you going to do?"

He gave her an amused look. "Buy you more shoes?"

She wasn't entirely certain whether he was avoiding the question, teasing her, or if dulled by what they'd given him, he simply didn't understand. She chose to explain. "About the Firm."

He responded with a slight shrug, one that brought a grimace that told her that the drugs hadn't completely muted the pain. "They may be satisfied to simply move the Airwolf program out of my direct control, or with my transfer to a different branch. Worst case, I hand in my resignation. There are at least a dozen private companies in LA that would hire me as a security consultant in a heartbeat. Hell, if it came to it, I could start my own security company. Or I could actually run Briggs Industries."

"You'd be satisfied with that?"

"I'd be satisfied sitting at home eating bon-bons if you were with me."

Caitlin snickered at the image that popped into her head of Michael sitting around gorging himself on chocolate. _White chocolate, no doubt._ "Fat and lazy doesn't suit you-" Before she could say anything else, there was a soft tap on the door and it swung open.

The woman that entered was perhaps forty, if that, and wore a white lab coat. Naturally pretty in the manner of someone who didn't work at it, she wore little makeup and had her dark hair cropped short. She stopped a few feet from the bed, folding her arms across her chest and gazing at Michael with a look of frustrated exasperation. "You do realize that you dragged me out of bed?"

"Sorry about that." Michael looked over at Caitlin. "Let me introduce Doctor Rebecca Moore, genius surgeon and the only doctor I trust with anything more than a band-aid. She's the one who put me back together again after Moffett blew the hell out of the test facility."

Moore shook her head. "Flattery will get you nowhere. And to be precise, I'm only _one_ of the ones who put you back together. Believe me, that was a team event." She eyed Caitlin curiously. "So who might this be?"

"Caitlin O'Shannessy. She works for Santini. Hawke taught her to fly Airwolf some time ago." His voice dropped to a huskier register as Caitlin felt his fingers tighten around hers. "And I've recently come to the realization that she's the love of my life."

Cait felt a flood of emotion wash through her at his words. The public declaration of love was out of character for such a private man - undoubtedly it was largely fueled by the drugs - but she no longer had any doubts about the feelings behind it.

That brought a raised eyebrow. "I see. So, does this poor girl have any idea what she's getting herself into?" Moore asked Michael, smiling.

Michael snorted. "Oh, she knows."

"If I didn't initially, I think I've got it figured out by now," Caitlin answered, her tone light.

"Miss O'Shannessy-"

"Caitlin, please."

"Caitlin, then." Her tone was warm and friendly. "Can I get you to wait outside for a few minutes while I examine Michael?"

"Sure, I-"

Her agreement was interrupted by Michael's words. "No. Stay. Rebecca, whatever you need to say or do to me, you can do in front of Cait. I have no secrets from her." That devilish smirk was back. "She's seen me naked. More than once."

Moore laughed, but nodded. She began by pulling a small penlight from a pocket and shining it in his eye, then moved on to check the bruises that lined the side of his face. "So, I understand you got into a fight?"

"I suppose you could call it that. Defending a lady." He flinched away from her hand. "Ow."

Caitlin felt the heat rise in her cheeks as Moore briefly glanced over at her before returning her attention to Michael. "I hope the lady was worth it."

"She certainly is." He squeezed Caitlin's hand.

"My resident tells me that they knocked you out?"

"I think I was more stunned than actually knocked unconscious. I got hit and went down, and I remember something being jabbed into my thigh. Pretty sure it was a syringe. Then I woke up on the boat. They drugged Cait, too."

"Oh?" Moore looked up, turning her attention to Caitlin. "Same thing? Syringe with some drug?"

What little Caitlin remembered was hazy, as if her memories were mired in a thick fog. "Not initially, at least. One of the waiters brought champagne. It was after I'd finished it that I started feeling funny. That same waiter told me he'd take me outside where I could get some air. I wasn't thinking clearly and I went with him. The other men were waiting outside. It just sort of blurs from there. They might have drugged me further at some point, I don't know."

Michael nodded. "I saw them dragging you through the paths behind the buildings. You were out of it. Anyone who didn't know better would have assumed you were intoxicated."

Moore turned her attention back to Michael. "They took blood when you were admitted?" She waited for his answering nod. "Good. The lab may be able to identify what you were given. You have a headache?"

"Yes," Michael answered. He hadn't mentioned it previously. Caitlin wondered what else he hadn't bothered to tell her.

"Dizziness?" Moore asked.

"No."

"Nausea?"

"A little when I first woke up, but it passed. It may have been the drugs."

"I felt the same way," Caitlin agreed, remembering how her stomach had felt when she first came around. At the time she'd been uncertain whether it was from what they had given her, or from the sight of Michael laying there in a bleeding, crumpled heap.

"Likely whatever they gave you, then." She turned her attention back to Michael. "You do have a concussion, though."

He scowled. "Tell me something I don't already know."

Moore pulled the blanket down and unsnapped the shoulder of Michael's gown to examine his ribs. From where she was seated, Caitlin couldn't see much of what the doctor was doing, but Michael's grimace suggested it wasn't very comfortable.

The doctor frowned as she checked him over. "What did they hit you with, a baseball bat?"

"First time? Roundhouse kick. After they got me down. . . ." Glancing in Caitlin's direction, he broke off.

"You're going to be sore for awhile, but nothing showed on the x-rays. There might be a hairline crack or two that I can't see, but it's probably just heavy bruising." She refastened the gown and adjusted the covers so she could look at his leg. "So, I heard that you jumped off a boat? Just what, precisely, does that mean?"

"We dove off the upper deck of a very expensive yacht about thirty or forty feet into the Gulf of Mexico."

"And you did this because?"

"The alternative was acute lead poisoning and a hell of a lot of holes for you to sew up."

Moore sighed deeply. "Many more holes and there won't be enough _left_ to sew up."

"Rebecca, I felt something in my leg give when I hit the water." There was an edge to his voice. Caitlin doubted if he would ever admit it, but she knew he was scared. _So was she._ "How much damage did I do?"

"You're a lucky man, Michael. It's a sprain and a hell of a lot of nasty swelling. If - and I repeat _if_ \- you stay off of it, I think it will heal without surgery. That said, you're going to be on crutches for at least two or three weeks. If you were anyone else, I'd suggest a wheelchair, because using crutches will hurt like hell with those ribs, but I know who I'm dealing with. Just remember, if you start putting weight on that knee before it heals. . . ." She left the threat hanging.

Caitlin could feel the tension melt out of Michael, and it flowed out of her as well. Jumping had been her idea, and regardless of their lack of options, if it had ended up doing further permanent damage to his leg, she would have had a hard time forgiving herself.

"So, there's no reason I can't go home, then?" he asked.

His doctor scowled. "I'd much rather that you stayed here under observation, at least overnight. You _do_ have a concussion."

"I'll be fine-" He started to sit up, wincing as the movement pulled at his ribs.

Caitlin gently pushed him back against the bed. "You're staying. Your doctor wants you here, you stay here. Simple as that."

"Simple as that, is it?" Michael eyed her. "Only if you'll stay here with me."

"I'm not sure they'll allow that."

"They'll allow it." He grinned, his gaze flashing to Moore. "I've still got a little pull around here."

The chair Caitlin sat in was quite comfortable. She could certainly sleep in it, if it would keep Michael in the hospital. "Well, if it's not a problem, as long as you behave and do what your doctor tells you, I'll stay right here," she agreed.

He released her hand. "When I said 'here with me' I meant _here_." He patted the bed beside him. "I'll move over and make room for you."

She laughed. Whatever drugs they'd given him had brought with them a bit of good-natured playfulness. "I don't think Dr. Moore is going to approve."

"Actually, Dr. Moore would rather that you call her Rebecca. Knowing Michael as I do, I fear we'll be seeing a lot more of each other." Moore smiled. "And if it will keep him here, you can sleep anywhere he wants. One condition, though. Michael lets me borrow you for a few minutes. I want to draw blood. You were drugged, too, and I _would_ like to know what they gave the two of you. It may be too late to find anything but I think it's worth running the lab work."

"I can do that." Caitlin agreed, standing. "Okay with you, Michael?"

He scowled. "Only if she doesn't keep you too long. And you promise not to believe a thing she says about me."

"I'll have her back in no time, and I won't tell her anything that isn't true." Moore waited at the door for Caitlin to join her. "There's an exam room we can use right down the hall."

"I'll be right back." Caitlin leaned over and let her lips brush Michael's forehead, then followed the other woman from the room.

"You're sure he's going to be alright?" Caitlin asked, as soon as the door had closed behind them.

"He's going to be miserable for awhile, but the only significant injury is the sprain, and if he stays off of it, that should be fine." The doctor led the way down the corridor an into a small exam room, closing the door behind them.

"He'll stay off it. I'll make damn sure of that."

Moore laughed. "You do seem to be a good influence. I can't believe he agreed to stay. That's not like him." She opened a drawer and removed a needle and the other items she would need to draw blood. "Roll up your sleeve."

Caitlin did as she asked, looking away from what Moore was doing. "You think he's hurting worse than he's letting on?"

"Undoubtedly. But that wouldn't keep him here." The doctor taped a band-aid over where she'd taken the blood. "Done." She hesitated, finally continuing as Caitlin pulled her sleeve back down. "You know about what happened to him?"

"Some of it. Moffett and Airwolf. I know it was bad."

"We lost a lot of good people that day. Nearly lost Michael. Should have, by all rights. He was here for three months, and if I'd had my way, he would have stayed at least another. The day they found out where Moffett was, he signed himself out. I think it was the first time he'd walked more than twenty feet since. . . ." Moore gave Caitlin a sideways glance. "Don't tell Michael, but I have my sources. A few hours after he left here, he showed up at Hawke's cabin." She finished tagging the vial of blood. "What I'm saying. . . his current injuries are far from being enough to keep him here. You're the only reason he's not already out the door."

"I wish I had a little more influence on him. I'm constantly telling him to quit pacing and sit down. He tells me I'm 'bossy.'"

Moore laughed. "Good luck with that." She turned more serious. "So what about you? You jumped off that boat, too."

Caitlin shook her head. "I'll probably be a little stiff by tomorrow, it's but nothing that a nice hot shower won't fix."

"You're sure?"

"I'm good. I just ended up with scrapes and bruises." She was tired, and she knew that she _would_ be stiff and sore as soon as she stopped moving, but it was over. _It was over, they were safe, and Michael wasn't seriously injured._ She couldn't ask for anything more.

"In that case, why don't I take you down to the on-call room and let you take that shower?" Moore suggested. "Then I'll find you a pair of scrubs you can wear. I can't imagine that flight suit is very comfortable."

She considered it. "I did promise Michael I'd be right back."

"I'll tell him where you went. They cleaned him up when he came in; I don't think he'll begrudge you a shower."

Caitlin knew it would feel good, and if Michael really did intend for her to crawl into bed with him, the scrubs would be better to sleep in. "Thank you."

"Good. While you're showering, I'll see about getting you both something to eat." Moore picked up the vial of Caitlin's blood before opening the door. "I'll drop this at the lab on the way."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Tired and on edge, Hawke made his way through the hospital with a deliberate stride that revealed nothing of his turbulent emotions. Since leaving Caitlin in the waiting room, he had returned Airwolf to her lair and had stopped at Santini Air, where he'd changed into street clothes and dropped Dom off so the elder Italian could head home. He'd kept his thoughts to himself as Dom had ranted about Michael. Dom was of the firm opinion that Michael was using Caitlin in the worst of ways. Hawke wasn't sure that Dom was wrong, but he was willing to wait, at least until he'd spoken to Michael. Only then would he'd decide what he was going to do. If he had to, he would either sever the relationship with Michael and the Firm or his ties to Caitlin. Worst case, with both. To give himself time to think, he'd stopped at an all night diner to grab a quick coffee and a bite to eat before heading back to the hospital.

In all, it had been at least an hour and a half, and he'd strongly suspected that Michael would be gone by the time he returned. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he had _hoped_ that Michael would be gone. That hope had been dashed when he'd stopped at the front desk and found that the agent had been admitted.

He had no idea what he was going to say to Michael. Hawke still couldn't get his head around the idea of Michael and Caitlin together as a couple, although looking back, he realized there had been clues. _Cait suggesting that she hang out at Knightsbridge while Airwolf dealt with the hijacked cruise ship. The fancy cufflinks he'd found in her bathroom that she'd claimed were hers. The odd way both Cait and Michael had reacted when he'd suggested she fly the Cessna to Texas. Even the outrageous "act" she had put on as her impromptu audition for the roll of Michael's date._ Yet he and Dom had assumed Michael was simply trying to recruit her. A dark part of him wondered if that _was_ at the root of the relationship. Would the Firm, and by extension Michael, go so far as to sleep with Cait just to find out the location of Airwolf? His thoughts twisted back on themselves. There had been no attempts on the Lady. No threats against him or Dom. Yet he couldn't quite believe Michael - _Arch-fucking-angel, of all people_ \- was involved with Caitlin.

He paused as he came to a corridor intersection. Hawke knew his way around the facility fairly well, having been treated there himself more times than he wanted to remember. He easily found the room that the receptionist had directed him to. The door was shut, the window blinds closed. Hawke stood in the hallway, uncertain. He assumed that Caitlin was still there, and he wasn't sure he wanted to walk in on the two of them unannounced.

As he stood there, steeling himself to knock, the door to the room opened and Rebecca Moore slipped out, turning as she did to quietly close it behind her. She startled as she turned back and saw him. "Hawke," she said, by way of greeting.

"How is he, Doc?" Hawke asked.

"Concussion, sprained knee and some heavy bruising across his ribs. He's going to be sore for awhile, but he'll be fine."

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. It wasn't that he wanted Michael to be seriously hurt, he just wanted the agent away from Cait. _Amnesia. Michael forgetting she even existed. That would've worked._ Hawke shook away that image, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Can I see him?"

"Not unless it's something that can't wait. He's asleep. If it's not an emergency, he'll be released tomorrow and you can talk to him then."

It was probably just as well. Perhaps by morning he could come up with something more eloquent that just demanding that Michael break off the relationship. "Is Caitlin still here? I promised her I'd give her a ride if she wanted." Not that he relished the idea of another argument with her, either.

Moore gave him a long look. "You don't approve, do you?"

Hawke snorted. "He doesn't care about her. He's just using her." He steadfastly ignored that tiny whisper in the back of his mind that wondered if he might be wrong.

"Are you sure about that?" Moore asked, echoing that whisper. "If you'll be quiet, I'll show you something."

She waited for his answering nod before stepping back and reaching behind her to crack the door to Michael's room.

It took Hawke's eyes a moment to adapt to the dim lighting. When they did, he saw Michael laying in bed on his back. Caitlin crowded in beside him. She was on her side, her forehead resting up against his shoulder. Her right hand was across his stomach, her fingers threaded through the fingers of Michael's left hand. Both of them were very obviously asleep.

Moore let the door close. "Still convinced?" she asked.

"So she crawled into bed with him. What's that supposed to prove?" Hawke could feel the ground under him crumbling.

"It was his idea. The only way he would agree to stay." She sighed. "Hawke, I've known Michael a long time. This is the first time since Moffett that I've ever seen him happy and content. What I'm saying is. . . don't screw this up."

 _Michael, happy and content._ It wasn't a state he would usually associate with the agent. He shook his head, hoping that reality would snap back into place. It didn't. "Tell Caitlin I said to take the day off. On second thought, she might as well take the rest of the week." He doubted if she'd be willing to leave Michael's side, and there was nothing they really needed her for at the hanger. Hesitating, Hawke glanced toward the door of the hospital room. "You said he'll be released tomorrow?"

"He already called and had one of his people drop off clothes. Barring any unexpected complications I imagine he'll be out of here before noon."

"In that case, I'll catch up with Michael later." Uncertain how he actually felt about the situation, Hawke wasn't sure what he was going to say to either of them.

Moore nodded. "I'll tell them. Hawke, remember what I said."

"I'll try to. Thanks," he added, turning to go out the way he'd come in.


	16. Chapter 16

**Common Ground**

 **Chapter 16**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

They were in the shower again. Steam swirled around them, water running in heated rivulets down her back as her hands slid across his soap slick skin. This time, though, Michael lifted her effortlessly, his breath every bit as hot as the water as he whispered into her ear.

"Sir? I'm sorry, sir, I hate to wake you, but there's a call for you from the President."

The quiet voice was an unwelcomed intrusion into what had been a lovely dream. Caitlin blinked away the last lingering cobwebs of sleep, a bit embarrassed as she realized that they weren't alone. Easing herself free of Michael, she twisted around to lower the protective railing on her side of the narrow bed. She started to rise, only to be pulled back down, Michael holding her close so that his lips could brush hers. "Good morning," he said, as he released her.

"Morning," she smiled back at him, reaching down to retrieve the sneakers she'd left beside the bed.

The nurse who'd woken them had turned her back and was busying herself moving the room's telephone onto the bedside table where Michael could easily reach it. She was young, and from the way she was nervously fidgeting, probably unaccustomed both to having her patients receive calls from the White House and to finding them sharing a bed. "I can have the call transferred here for you," she offered, turning towards them and revealing cheeks ruddy with a blush of embarrassment that Caitlin suspected was mirrored on her own.

"Thank you."

Caitlin knew that whatever the President wanted with Michael was probably classified. "I think I'm going to stretch my legs. Fifteen minutes?"

Michael nodded his understanding and appreciation. "Better make it at least thirty. He tends to ramble." He turned his attention back to the nurse. "Would you show Cait where she can get a cup of coffee?"

"Certainly, sir. I'll have that call transferred now."

With a wave to Michael, Caitlin followed the other woman out into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Returning to her station, the nurse gave Caitlin directions to the break room.

On the way, Cait stopped in the rest room. She washed her face and ran her fingers through her hair, tidying it as best she could before going to pour herself a cup of coffee. A glance at the clock revealed it was just before nine. Picking a movie magazine from the pile on the table, she sat down to kill some time.

She let the President have his half-hour and added an extra ten minutes just in case before making her way back to Michael's room. When she arrived, she was surprised to find him dressed and out of bed, seated in a chair. A pair of crutches leaned against the side of the bed and a black knee brace formed a sharp contrast to the pants beneath it.

"You're up."

"The call didn't take as long as I'd feared."

She took in his wardrobe, the white polo shirt and pants and slip on shoes. _Michael's idea of casual._ "Please don't tell me you're here so often they keep spare clothes for you?"

He laughed. "Not quite. I called Sam last night while you were showering and had her swing by the house to pick up some things then drop them off here."

"So how do you feel?" Cait asked. She wondered if he'd used her absence as an opportunity to dress without her seeing how much he was hurting.

"The ribs are sore and my leg aches." Michael gave her a slight, dismissive shrug and the hint of a grin. "No bullet holes, no broken bones, and only a few stitches. We're both in one piece, Cait. I'm not going to complain." He gestured toward a second chair. "As you're so fond of saying, sit. Breakfast will be here any minute."

Michael had barely said the words when an orderly entered carrying two trays. Once the food had been arranged on the small table, he left them to their meal.

Breakfast consisted of an omelet, potatoes, orange juice and coffee. Like the sandwiches they'd had in the wee hours before falling asleep, the food was excellent. "I can't believe this is hospital food," Cait said, as she skewered a bit of potato with her fork.

"The cuisine is one of the few good things about this place."

 _How many times had he eaten here?_ It was something she didn't want to think about, and it appeared that he sensed her unease. In any event, he changed the topic. "I was asked to keep the events of the weekend under wraps, for now, at least," he told her. "Luis kept rather detailed records on the boat. He had it set up so that if he went down, he was taking the rest of his associates with him. An insurance policy to keep everyone quiet, so to speak. The Feds are still rounding them up. Half a dozen local and state police and at least two judges, so far."

"Zeus?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"Locked up. He was under surveillance, and the phone he had access to in Washington was tapped. When you were taken and I attacked his men, Luis realized I was more than just an import trader. He called Zeus, who directed Luis to kill me, but based on some preliminary notes that Luis left, he saw more profit in selling me off on the intelligence market. **"**

"Why? Why would Zeus do that?" She wasn't sure what shocked her more – that Zeus would order Michael's death or Michael's indifference to the attempt.

Michael shrugged. "Means and opportunity."

"That's . . . I mean, how can you-"

Michael leaned forward and took her hand. "I'm sorry, Cait. I didn't mean for that to sound so blasé. So much of my world revolves about plans and counterplans and detailed agendas and more intelligence reports than you can imagine. But all that said, ultimately it comes down to seeing the one opportunity you have to strike and being prepared to take it." He gave her hand a squeeze. "I've been a thorn in Zeus's side for a long time. Zeus saw his opportunity and took it. He just didn't know that we'd stumbled onto Luis's operation and been authorized to investigate, much less that we could tie him to Luis and Nelson. He thought he had a foolproof way of removing me without anyone being able to link him to my death. The _former_ committee chairman will be going away for a very long time." Michael paused, his gaze shifting away from her.

She realized he wanted to say something else but was unsure. "What? I can tell there's more."

"My life revolves around secrets. I can't always share, but I want to always be able to tell you the truth about things whenever I can." One corner of his mouth lifted in a self-mocking grin. "Oddly enough, I'm a firm believer in the truth."

"So tell me."

"Luis described you to Zeus. Fortunately, Zeus couldn't place you as one of my people and assumed you were just what your cover was, a date. One Cheyenne O'Neill, formerly of Texas and current resident of California. A party girl with a knack for catching the eye of wealthy men and someone who wouldn't be missed. It's why Luis tried to take you rather than kill you. Thankfully, Zeus didn't consider any other possibilities." He shook his head. "If he'd put it together, he would have known I was onto him. And he would have directed Luis to kill us both."

She shuddered before pushing it out of her mind. It was over. They were safe. "What about Nelson?"

"Still under investigation. They're trying to determine just how much he knew about what was going on. At a minimum, he was knowingly accepting illegal contributions. His political career is over."

Caitlin blew out a long sigh. "Now what?"

"We get the hell out of here. I've already called for a limo. It should be here in another fifteen minutes or so."

She looked up sharply. "You're planning to go into Knightsbridge?"

Michael shook his head. "No. Too many questions I'm currently not at liberty to answer. The knee gave me a good excuse to call in and tell them that I'll be working from home. It will make it easier to avoid people I'm not prepared to talk to."

"Can one of your people stay with you at the house? You're going to need someone to take care of you."

He eyed her. "I was hoping that you would."

It was what she wanted, but she wasn't sure. "Hawke's not very happy with either of us. The plan was for our weekend adventure to be over and for me to be back at work today. I'm already late. I think I'd better go in before he gets any madder."

Finishing the remainder of his coffee, Michael dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Hawke gave you the day off. In fact, he gave you the rest of the week off. Said he'd catch up with us – with me, at least – sometime today."

"You called him?"

A quick shake of his head. "He was here last night. Rebecca talked to him."

"Your poor doctor."

Michael chuckled. "Knowing her, poor Hawke." He gave Cait an appraising look. "We're going to need to stop and get you some clothes. I don't think you want to wear those scrubs all week."

She wasn't entirely sure what he meant by stopping to get her clothes, but regardless of his intentions, she wasn't about to let him buy her anything else. "If we swing by my apartment, I can get the spare key from my neighbor. It will only take me a minute to grab a few things."

"One condition."

"What's that?"

That smirk was back again. "You take all the time you need to pack."

"Michael-" she began, falling silent as she realized she wasn't even sure why she was objecting.

"You said yourself that I'm going to need someone to take care of me."

"Since when were you so willing to be taken care of?" Caitlin tried to hide her amusement.

Michael didn't try to hide his. "Ever since I pictured you giving me a sponge bath." He reached for the call button that would summon the nurse. "Now let's see about getting me checked out of here."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

"You're sure that's going to be comfortable? You wouldn't rather go lie down?" Cait asked, returning from the guest room where she had stashed her suitcase. _She wasn't sure whether she would actually be sleeping there, but moving her things into Michael's bedroom seemed far too presumptive._

"I'm fine, Cait." He was seated on one end of the sofa, his injured leg propped up by a pillow atop the coffee table and crutches within easy reach, leaning against a nearby chair. Michael hesitated. "I called Sara."

She knew that she hadn't been in the guest room that long. "When?"

"From the car phone, while you were in your apartment packing. I told her that William's death would remain an accident, but that those responsible were either dead or would be headed to prison."

Caitlin was almost afraid to ask. "What did she say?"

"Thank you."

Caitlin frowned. "That's all?"

He shrugged. "She was cordial. That's more than I expected."

It still didn't sit well with her. Michael had nearly died bringing Luis and his gang to justice. Something in her expression must have given away her thoughts as Michael let out a long sigh.

"Cait, there are decades of distrust and animosity there. It's not going to go away just because she found out the truth about what I do. If it stops her from spreading rumors and badmouthing me to our mother, I'll be satisfied."

It wasn't enough to satisfy Caitlin, but it would have to be. It was his choice and all she could do was support him for now. Letting it go, she gave him a smile and a nod towards his propped up leg. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Nothing I can get you?"

"You could come over here and keep me company while I get some work done." He patted the sofa beside him with one hand, while opening the briefcase Sam had dropped off with the other.

"No top secret files?" she asked, as she sat down beside him.

"Mostly boring financials." He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. "I trust you not to look. Not that much of this would mean anything to you even if you did."

It was nice, snuggling against his side as he read over a number of reports. She let her eyes slip closed, content to simply feel his warmth against her skin and hear the quiet beating of his heart.

Close to dozing off, it startled her when he moved. She blinked her eyes open as he snapped the briefcase shut. "Done already?" she asked around a yawn.

"For now. Nothing there that requires immediate attention. Sometime today I do need to write up a report for the White House, though. The details of the events in Corpus Christi. I'd like to get your input on that, as well."

"Hmmm. Of course," she murmured. Cait snuggled back against Michael's shoulder. She really didn't want to think about it, about what had happened, and worse, about what could have happened. At least not for a little while. "Can it wait until this afternoon?"

Warm fingers ran up her arm. "I don't think the President would begrudge us a few hours."

"Good." She was quiet for a time, simply enjoying the moment. "This is nice. Just being here like this. Not having to hide-" she searched for the right word, "Not having to hide _u_ s any longer."

He chuckled at that. "I can think of one thing that would be better."

She tipped her head back to look up at him. "What's that?"

"I could kiss you." The hand that had been lazily stoking her arm curled around her shoulder and pulled her up to him. His lips brushed against hers and then moved along her cheek, the tickling sensation sending chills racing across her skin. "Or better still, I could make love to you."

Cait shuddered at his words. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything, but right now, one of them needed to be sensible. She pulled back from him enough to put a few inches of space between them. "I want that as much as you do, Michael, but between your knee and those ribs, no. We've waited this long, we can wait until you heal."

Long fingers trailed slowly along her cheek. "There are things we could do."

She knew what he was suggesting, and knew from experience exactly what those fingers could do to her. It was tempting. It wasn't what she really wanted, though, and for that, she was willing to wait. "I know, but as I recall, you said String plans to stop in. I'd really rather he didn't catch me with my pants down." She leaned toward him to give him a quick kiss before settling back. "Figuratively or literally."

Michael laughed at that, a quick laugh that brought with it an almost imperceptible wince that told Cait that his ribs were bothering him more than he was willing to admit. "Point taken."

Before she could say anything else, the doorbell rang. Somehow, it sounded angry and insistent, even though it only chimed twice.

"Speak of the Devil."

"String?" she asked, sitting up.

"I'd bet on it." He started to reach for the crutches.

"Don't you dare." Cait rose from the sofa. "I'll get it."

She crossed the living room and opened the door, finding Hawke outside, hand poised to ring the doorbell again. Seeing her, he reached up and pulled off his sunglasses, shoving them into his shirt pocket. "Cait."

Stepping back, she held the door open. "Come in."

He nodded and walked past her, allowing her to shut the door behind him before he advanced into the room. Hawke approached Michael warily, his unease telegraphed by his hesitant movements. "So," he began, "I called Knightsbridge. Sam said I'd find you here. Are you all right?"

Michael shrugged. "A couple weeks off my feet, I'll be fine."

Caitlin could feel the tension in the room. It was radiating off of Hawke in waves. "String, sit down." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Michael's snicker at her words, but she ignored him, more intent on trying to keep the peace between the two men. "Can I get you something?" she asked Hawke.

"No. I'm not staying." He did, however, lower himself to perch on the edge of a chair. Even seated, he was a tightly coiled spring waiting to explode.

For a moment, Caitlin considered taking the far end of the sofa. _No. She needed to make her feelings clear._ Instead of keeping her distance, she sat down beside Michael, leaning into him with her hand on his thigh.

Hawke was watching her and scowled his displeasure before turning his attention to Michael. "Caitlin tells me that you two are. . . ." His voice faded into nothingness.

Michael sighed, lightly massaging the bruise on his temple. "I am sorry, Hawke. Given the ever tenuous status of what I suppose could be considered our _friendship_. . . when it started to get serious, I probably should have told you."

"Probably?" There was an edge to Hawke's voice. "Why didn't you?"

Caitlin felt Michael tense under her hand in reaction to String's hostility.

"Because we were still figuring it out ourselves. Hell, in some ways we're still working out all the complications."

String let out a harsh laugh. "The Firm, Airwolf, Washington, the fact that you're a bastard . . . not exactly small complications, Michael. How the hell did you and Cait?" He made a vague gesture with his hand at the two of them.

"The night that Sawyer strapped the bomb to her." Michael briefly turned his head toward her, silently mouthing an apology before turning back. "There was something just slightly off about the way Cait was acting. I turned around and went back to her apartment."

"And seduced her."

"No, he didn't." Caitlin answered before Michael could. It was none of Hawke's business, but if they could convince him that the feelings between them were real, he might accept the relationship. She considered her words. "Stop trying to cast him in the role of the bad guy here, because that wasn't what happened. We talked about how I felt. Michael was on that boat, too, and he understood, in a way that you and Dom couldn't. What happened was mutual, and we both thought it was just going to be a one-time thing." She held up a hand to keep Michael from interrupting. "Actually, it _was_ a one-time thing, until they hijacked that cruise ship. That morning in his office, I saw in Michael all the same things I'd been feeling after Sawyer. I propositioned _him_."

There was disappointment and hurt in the look Hawke gave her. "You propositioned him. Michael had just threatened to have me thrown in prison. I was furious with him and you knew it."

She wasn't about to let Hawke blame Michael for that. "He only threatened you because innocent people were about to be tortured and you were being a smart ass and jerking his chain about not taking the mission."

Hawke harrumphed, but she knew she'd made her point. He'd taunted Michael while civilian lives - including those of children - were on the line. Had the situation been reversed, Hawke would have exploded just as violently as Michael had.

"It wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done, but I accepted her offer." Michael hesitated. "The next day Cait sat out the mission at Knightsbridge, and I began to realize how much I wanted her there. Not as one of my agents," he added, before Hawke could suggest otherwise, "but with me. I enjoyed having her there."

"So you two. . . since then?"

"No. For all the reasons you mentioned. The Firm, Airwolf, Washington - and the fact that I'm a bastard. Not to mention how it would complicate things between you and I. And Santini." He let out a long breath. "I made the decision not to allow it to go any further. Or to let it happen again."

"You stuck with that, I see."

Caitlin was becoming increasingly annoyed with Hawke's attitude. "Actually, he did. Then you sent us off to Texas together. Even then, all the days we were in Texas and Washington, nothing happened. Nothing physical, at least. But it gave me a chance to get to know Michael, and for him to get to know me in a different setting. It gave us a chance to talk to each other."

"When you came back, you were furious with him. Supposedly it was because he wouldn't let you in on the Luis op." Hawke phrased it as a statement, but Cait had no doubt that it was a question.

"Michael-" Caitlin began, but his hand closed on hers, stopping her.

"I didn't want to hurt Cait, and I tried to end it, for once and for all. I did end it, until I got it through my thick head that in trying to protect her, I was only hurting her more." His fingers tightened around hers. "We talked it out, and decided to wait until after we'd dealt with Luis to sort out what we were going to do. That lasted until we found ourselves trapped on the top deck of his boat."

Hawke gazed at them both for a long minute before speaking. When he did, he addressed his words to Michael. "That's it?"

"Essentially. In the interest of full disclosure, though, that first night we were together, one of the things we talked about was Cait's fear that she was the weak link in the Airwolf crew. That she didn't have the military and intelligence background that you and Santini both have. I offered to arrange Firm training, and she accepted. She's been attending classes with my people intermittently ever since."

Anger that had somewhat abated flashed in Hawke's eyes again. "You're planning to recruit Cait as an operative?"

"Definitely not." He smiled at her, and his hand closed tightly around hers. "Although, I have to admit that I do hope to convince her to wear white for me someday. At least once."

The meaning behind Michael's words dawned on her at almost the same moment they registered with Hawke, and he appeared to be every bit as surprised as she was.

"You know the shit will hit the fan as soon as the Firm hears of this?" He said, finally.

"I imagine it already has. Right now, they've got a bigger problem with Zeus having been arrested, but once the fallout from that settles, I'll be next on the list. At a minimum, I expect Airwolf to be removed from my direct control." Michael paused, and then continued. "Hawke, I don't know where I'll end up or how much influence I'll have, but I intend to do my best to convince the committee to honor our arrangement. I'll also continue to do whatever I personally can to find your brother."

Slowly, as if deep in thought, Hawke stood. He started toward the door then turned back. "Someone named Roberts called. Asked that Dom and I keep a lid on this past weekend."

"Ken Roberts. White House liaison. It's an active investigation, Hawke. They don't want to tip anyone off. That's part of the reason why I'm hiding out here at the house. Too many questions I'm not currently at liberty to answer."

Hawke nodded once. He hesitated. "Cait, there's not a lot of work at the hanger. As I told the Doc last night, you might as well take the rest of the week off. It will give Dom some time to calm down."

Cait suspected that Hawke needed the time as much as Dom did, but didn't say it. She started to rise, but he waved her off. "Don't get up. I'll let myself out."

Caitlin waited until Hawke had left, then turned until she was facing Michael. "What you said, about me wearing white." _Her initial thoughts had to be wrong. She'd misunderstood, or he'd said it simply to placate Hawke. He couldn't possibly have meant it the way she'd taken it._

"I shouldn't have sprung that on you the way I did. I know you're not ready yet, and to be honest, neither am I, but I meant what I said. Eventually, I want to see you in white, and I don't mean as an agent." His arm snaked around her and pulled her to him, his lips close to her ear. "We'll make it work, Cait," he whispered, "I promise you that."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

A week later, the bruising to Michael's side was healing. While it no longer hurt simply to breath, the crutches still pulled at his abused ribs. Forced to move slowly to avoid aggravating them further and still forbidden from putting any weight on his knee, the walk from the Firm's front door to his office seemed twice its usual length.

Despite the pain, he fought down a smile. Whether consciously or not, Caitlin had assumed the same position she'd taken on their first trip to Texas and then again in Washington, by falling into step on his left side. This time, though, instead of protecting him from family members or game-playing politicians, she was simply carrying his briefcase and opening doors for him.

Asking her to accompany him in to work had been a last minute decision. He'd considered it all weekend, but hadn't actually decided until Sam had called while he was getting dressed. The committee had _requested_ his presence at ten o'clock sharp. He assumed it meant they had reached a decision regarding what they were going to do about him and his relationship with Caitlin. Having her at his side would serve as a statement. Their relationship was non-negotiable.

He suspected it was a bad sign that it had been Sam that called. From what she had told him, Zeus's arrest had thrown the committee into complete disarray. As Michael had expected that disarray had bought him a few days grace. Late in the week, though, as senior member, the Admiral had been asked to serve as acting chairman until there was a permanent appointment. Once the Admiral had taken up the reins, the committee had met behind closed doors to decide what to do about him and Cait. Sam didn't know the outcome of the meeting, but Michael could make an educated guess. If it had been good news, the Admiral himself would have called.

Michael had told Caitlin that they might simply take control of Airwolf away from him, but deep down, he'd never really believed they would be satisfied with that. They might consider a transfer, however any prospective transfer would most likely mean moving to Washington, if not half way around the world. He'd annoyed the committee enough over the years that he wouldn't put it past them to send him as far away as possible. _That wasn't going to happen._ He wasn't about to leave Caitlin, or ask her to give up Airwolf to go with him. All of which meant that today might well be his last day at the Firm. _Screw it_. If it came down to that, at least Caitlin would be there to help him pack up his things. Surprisingly enough, he found the thought of that outcome didn't bother him. A year ago, the very idea would have been terrifying. The Firm had been not only his purpose, but his life. Walking away would have killed him. He tilted his head enough to catch a glimpse of Caitlin. Now he had other possibilities. _Possibilities that he'd long thought were not for him_. It was rather freeing to discover that he'd been wrong.

Finally arriving at his outer office, Michael found Sam manning the reception desk. "Sir, Caitlin," she greeted them, smiling warmly as she rose. "I'm glad you're back, sir."

"Good to be back." He didn't add that it might not be for long. Sam undoubtedly knew it as well as he did. She'd been his aide long enough to know the politics in play.

Opening the door to the inner office, Sam stepped back to let him pass. As he did, he saw Sam move to give Caitlin a quick hug, whispering something into her ear that caused them both to laugh and blush.

For once, Caitlin didn't have to tell him to sit. He lowered himself gratefully into his chair, propping the crutches against the wall behind him. Closing the door behind her, Caitlin joined him, setting his briefcase down on the desk.

"So what was that about?" he asked, gesturing toward the now closed door.

A blush stained her cheeks, but she met his gaze boldly. "She congratulated me, and said half the secretaries are jealous."

"Only half?" he teased.

She sent him a mock glare. "Sam said it, I didn't. Besides, it's obvious they've never had to deal with your arrogance."

"You like my arrogance."

She snorted in amusement before her glare softened. "Heaven help me, but I do, although, I can't imagine why." She took a seat on the sofa. "So we wait?"

Michael glanced at his watch. He had just over an hour until his meeting. "We wait, while I finish up a few things." He thumbed the combination into the lock on his briefcase, then opened it and removed a sheaf of papers. One of the things he needed to do was file an official report with the committee regarding the events that had transpired in Corpus Christi, an edited version of the one he'd filed with the President. Going through the document he had initially outlined at home, he spent the next forty-five minutes making corrections and the occasional notation, bringing the report in line with the changes the White House had requested.

He had just finished reading over the document for a final time when there was a soft tap on the office door. It opened and Sam stuck her head in. "You have visitors, Sir."

Sam stepped back to allow Hawke and Santini into the room before closing the door behind them.

"Michael. Cait." Hawke's greeting wasn't exactly friendly, but neither was it openly hostile. Behind him, Santini said nothing, allowing his silence to speak for him.

"Gentlemen. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Heard they'd called you in," Hawke answered, as terse as ever.

Michael glanced toward Cait and caught the almost imperceptible shake of her head.

"Sam called. She thought you might need some support." Uninvited, Hawke dropped into a chair. He turned his head and eyed Santini expectantly until he too finally took a seat.

 _Sam. He'd been right earlier. She knew the politics and the probable outcome of today and was trying to rally the troops._ He made a mental note to talk to her. It wasn't that her intentions weren't good, but Michael was far from convinced that the presence of the two pilots would serve any useful purpose.

"Just because I'm here, don't think that means I approve." Santini scowled as only he could. "I just don't feel like havin' to help String break in another liaison."

"Thank you for your moral support. It's truly appreciated." His sarcasm wasn't lost on Santini, as the other man's scowl deepened. But even with the sarcasm, Michael knew that despite Santini's denial, the Italian's presence was the closest he would come to getting his blessing, at least until he had proven himself. Michael softened his tone to something more approaching gratitude. "Thank you. I do mean that. Although, I doubt if any of us will have much influence on their decision." He checked the time. It was nearly ten. He reached for the crutches. "Well, I guess it's time to get this over with."

As he got to his feet, he saw Caitlin start to rise. He shook his head. "No, Cait. This one I've got to do on my own."

She looked as if she might argue, and then nodded, her expression resigned.

His hands taken up with the crutches, he jerked his head toward his desk. "Can you give my report to Sam to type up?" As he reached the doorway, he turned. "Hawke, Dominic. I know you have concerns about my relationship with Caitlin. Whatever those concerns are, you take them up with me, not her. Understood?"

After a short pause, Hawke nodded. Santini simply glared, but Michael chose to take that as assent. Taking a deep breath that he immediately regretted, Michael headed toward the conference room.

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

The committee members were seated behind tables, arrayed about the room in a horseshoe. At the far end of the room, the Admiral came to his feet as Michael entered.

"So, Michael," The Admiral said by way of greeting, "Quite the mess you uncovered down in Texas."

"I wish I could say it was good intel, but it was purely by accident, I'm afraid." It was something that Michael didn't really want to think about. If Luis hadn't killed William, if Caitlin hadn't suspected foul play, then Luis might well have ended up having his hooks buried in the next president.

"Regardless, you did good." The Admiral shifted his weight, scowling. "Unfortunately, that's not what this meeting is about."

Michael could feel the tension in the room, and was well aware of the frowns and furrowed brows directed his way by the committee members. Even the simple fact that no one had offered him a chair was indicative of the collective ire. Not that it really mattered as he suspected that his presence before the committee would be a short one.

There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. "Caitlin O'Shannessy."

"Michael, what on earth possessed you?" The question came from Athena, one of the few members that he usually counted as somewhat friendly towards him.

"It wasn't planned."

On the other side of the room, Thor, one of the senior members, tapped his pen impatiently on the table before him. "Planned or not, your dalliance with the O'Shannessy woman is a clear conflict of interest. You know better than that, and if you don't, you certainly should."

Still standing, the Admiral cleared his throat. "Enough. We've been through all this and we're not going to rehash it again. Michael, I don't agree with their decision, but the committee has voted to demand your resignation."

It didn't surprise him. Michael had hoped it wouldn't come to that, but had suspected it would. He nodded. "As soon as I can write it up. In fact, you if you want to wait, I can have it back to you in an hour."

"You aren't going to argue? Defend yourself?" The Admiral seemed disappointed.

Michael shrugged, as much as a man using crutches could. "There is nothing to argue or to justify. I have no excuses. When I realized my feelings had changed, I should have designated another liaison."

"Designated another liaison, not ended the relationship?" Athena asked.

Michael fought the urge to smile. This wasn't the place and these people would take it as a weakness he could ill-afford to display. "That is not an option."

Thor was watching him with shrewd eyes. "In the past, you have fought us tooth and nail for Airwolf; for your entire division. And now you would walk away?"

Michael heard what he didn't say. _For a woman. For love_. Michael bowed his head, studying the carpet. The burning rage of revenge and retribution that had driven him these past years had been extinguished. He had nothing to prove to himself or anyone else. He raised his head and met the eyes of each of the committee members. "Yes."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin sat in silence on the white leather couch, waiting for the committee to finish with Michael. Neither String nor Dom had said anything since he'd left the office, although they'd both been eying her. Finally catching Dom giving her one too many sideways glances, she let out a huff of annoyance. "Out with it, Dom," she demanded.

"I dunno, Cait. Your taste in men doesn't seem to get any better with time." He shook his head.

"Really, Dom? You're comparing Michael with someone like Ken Sawyer? Or Robert Villers?" She shuddered at the thought of the two, who had both tried to kill her.

"Michael's every bit as dangerous as either of them." Hawke answered her, but his words were without apparent rancor, only a simple statement of fact.

"I know that." During the week since, she had discussed with Michael what had happened on the boat, and they had both read over the reports filed by the various individuals and agencies that had secured the resort and later the yacht. Those reports had filled in a lot of missing pieces. Michael had killed four men with little more than his bare hands, and had shot Luis with the weapon he'd taken from Miquel. "If he wasn't, chances are we'd both be dead."

Dom wasn't about to be swayed. "He never should have dragged you down there in the first place."

Caitlin sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you that I wasn't _dragged_ anywhere? It was my-" She broke off as the door opened.

Michael entered, stopping to close the door behind himself before slowly crossing the room and dropping heavily into his chair.

"Well?" Hawke demanded.

The agent leaned back, steepling his hands before him. "The committee voted to ask for my resignation."

"What?" It was Dom who surged out of his chair. "Just because of Cait? They can't do that!"

Hawke rose more slowly, but with deliberation. "We'll see how they feel about losing access to Airwolf. Come on, Dom, I think we need to have a talk-"

Michael cut him off. "Hawke-"

"So you're involved with Caitlin. I don't particularly like it, either, but that's irrelevant. We have an arrangement. I'm not flying for any-"

"Hawke!" The other two men were halfway out the door when Michael's voice finally stopped them. "Sit _down_ ," he demanded, with an intensity that Caitlin only wished she could manage.

The pilot didn't sit, but he did stop, closing the door and returning to stand in front of Michael's desk. "I fly for you, Michael. Either that or I don't fly at all. If you're gone, so is Airwolf. I don't mind telling the committee that."

"There's more, Hawke. You haven't heard the rest of it. Sit. Both of you." Michael waited until Hawke and Santini had retaken their seats. "I said the _committee_ wanted my resignation." Planting his elbows on his desk, he ran his hands through his hair. "The White House intervened."

"They gave you your job back?" Caitlin asked, confused. Michael had warned her that he was probably going to be fired, so that she was prepared for, but this was an unexpected twist.

"No." Michael slowly shook his head, as if not quite believing his own words. "They've offered me Zeus's job as Firm director, and his seat on the committee."

Stunned, Caitlin only stared at him. It was Hawke who spoke first. "It's a bribe. They want you to keep your mouth shut."

"Essentially."

Caitlin wasn't sure she understood. "About Nelson or Zeus?"

"About all of it." Michael sighed, leaning back again, one finger rubbing pensively at his mustache.

"How? Michael, when you didn't check in and we lost the trace on Cait, the agents the White House sent took that place apart. Everyone who was there knows-"

Michael cut Hawke off. "What everyone knows is that some rich executive and his girlfriend went missing. Easily explained as an attempted kidnapping for ransom perpetrated by members of the waitstaff who were brought in to cater the event, and nothing more."

"Nothing more? Nelson gets away with this? With trying to kill you and Cait? With your brother's death?"

"The only thing that we have proof of is that Nelson took what he knew to be dirty money from Luis and looked the other way. Phone records and the confessions of his men indicate that when Luis and Nelson contacted Zeus after they realized that I wasn't what I appeared, it was Zeus who gave the order to have me terminated. Nelson wasn't involved with taking us nor with William's death."

Hawke's incredulous look turned to a glare. "You're going to go along with it - cover up Nelson's involvement. Let that dirty bastard run for President."

"Governor Nelson's involvement in politics is over. Seems that all of the 'excitement' at his fund raiser brought on a serious heart attack. He'll be resigning from office on the advice of his doctors."

Dom shook his head. "Whatever else I've thought of you, Michael, I never thought you could be bought."

Michael scowled. "Actually, I don't know yet whether I'm taking the job. But I suspected that Nelson's involvement in this would be swept under the rug, and I decided days ago to go along with this. Well before they offered me the position."

Before either of the others could say anything, Caitlin spoke up. "He did. We talked about it, and I agreed with his decision."

"Why?" Hawke asked.

"Because this is Watergate all over again. Another scandal of this magnitude so soon will only serve to further destroy the public's faith in the Presidency. I've seen governments overthrown for less." Michael grimaced. "And that's not even considering the international community's reaction."

Hawke looked to Caitlin. "And you're okay with this?"

She wasn't going to lie to him. "I don't like it, but I understand the reasoning. Considering what's at stake, I can live with it."

"Better get used to it, Cait. Shades of gray. That's the world your spotless wonder lives in." Dom's thumb jerked toward Michael.

Caitlin already knew that. She'd known it even before that first night at her apartment. She chose not to answer Dom, instead turning her attention back towards Michael. "They really offered you Zeus's position?"

He nodded once and sighed. "I'm not sure if I want it. The thought of getting out of this business does have a certain appeal."

It was something, she feared, that he had talked himself into. He had been willing to give up the Firm to be with her, but now, he was being offered the chance to have both. "They need you, Michael. Someone who won't use the position for personal gain. Someone who's not another Zeus."

"If you don't take it, you'll never forgive yourself," Hawke stated.

Michael looked up, staring at Hawke for a long moment. "You're probably right."

That brought just the hint of a grin to Hawke's visage. "So, I guess we're still flying for you, then?"

"No. That's one concession they demanded. Airwolf will no longer be under my direct control. It will be within the purview of the new Deputy Director."

Hawke started to rise again. "As I said before, I'm not flying for some Firm lackey."

"Hawke-" Michael's voice stopped the pilot. "If I take the Director's job, they said they would allow me to name my replacement. Do you think you could manage to work with Marella?"

"I thought she was on assignment in Europe?"

"She is, but I think she'll come back if offered a promotion. So, are you willing to fly for her?"

"Same arrangement we've had?" Hawke asked.

"We'll keep looking for your brother," Michael agreed.

Hawke nodded. "Deal."

 **A*I*R*W*O*L*F**

Caitlin pulled back as Michael pressed the kiss. He groaned at her hesitation but allowed her to pull away. As much as she wanted him, over the preceding two and a half weeks Caitlin had repeatedly stalled him. Michael felt he was ready for more 'energetic' interactions but she was still hesitant, especially whenever she caught him wince.

Regardless of his dislike for being coddled, she knew that Michael understood her fears and he had been extraordinarily patient with her, something she appreciated.

He leaned forward to kiss her again, lingering a moment before releasing her. "I'm going to turn in."

"I'll be right there," she said. While they had not had sex, Michael had insisted that they share his bed during his convalescence. When she'd protested that she was afraid she would inadvertently hurt him, he had informed her that he slept better with her there. So, Caitlin had joined him in his king-sized bed. A bed that was large enough that they could sleep without touching, but Michael insisted on beginning each evening curled around her. Even in the mornings, she'd noticed that if they moved apart in the night, some part of him remained in contact, a hand loosely clasped over her arm or a foot snuggled up against her calf.

It was endearing and sweet and so at odds with his normally aloof Archangel persona that thinking about it never failed to make her heart skip.

Michael was still wearing a brace on his knee, and would be for at least another week or two, but he was no longer using the crutches. Watching him walk down the hall, she saw that his limp was barely more pronounced than it had been before Corpus Christi. Making up her mind, she let enough time pass for him to get to the bedroom and get ready for bed. She knew that he would be propped up in the bed, bare-chested and wearing a pair of the sleep pants he preferred.

Once he'd had time to get situated, she followed, stopping long enough to grab a small bundle from the suitcase she had stashed in the guest room.

In the bathroom, she opened the bundle and unfolded the emerald green silk negligee she'd bought during the resort trip, silently thanking Michael for ensuring that their luggage had been retrieved and returned to them. She ran her fingertips across the fabric. It was possibly one of the most feminine things she'd ever owned and maybe that was why she was nervous about wearing it. She'd always been the tomboy, the athletic one, and while she didn't doubt that Michael desired her, she still felt faintly ridiculous in something so overly girly, as if any minute she'd be called out as a fraud.

Swallowing down her nervousness, she stripped off her clothes and slipped into the silk gown, then slid the flimsy chiffon and lace robe over her shoulders, knowing that the robe did little to hide anything, being more lace than anything else.

The last item was a pair of emerald silk panties, whose lace edging matched the lace along the bodice of the short gown. "You are seducing him, remember," she reminded her reflection, before leaving the panties on the counter.

Courage bolstered, she ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it up. Then she clicked off the bathroom light.

"Cait, do you know where-"

Whatever Michael had been about to ask died unfinished as she stepped into the bedroom.

Putting just a tiny bit of sway into her hips, she crossed the room towards the bed. Instead of going around to her side, she made straight towards Michael, who was watching her with obvious heightened interest.

"Caitlin?" Question and rising anticipation colored his voice.

She crawled onto the bed and straddled him where he was propped up against the headboard. Leaning forward, she kissed him, slow and sweet, letting the passion build between them. Her breathing now heavy, she leisurely pulled back to meet his gaze.

His hands rose to her shoulders then slid down her arms, tracing the patterns of lace inset against the chiffon. As his hands reached her wrists, his touch moved along the belt at her waist to the loosely tied knot.

He hummed in appreciation, the sound a low, deep, thrum that Caitlin could feel reverberate in her own body as he tugged at the knot until the sheer robe fell open revealing the silk and lace confection beneath. "You look stunning."

"They had it in white," she teased.

"No, I think green might be my new favorite color." His expression turned serious. "Besides, I don't want you too involved in my world. Wear colors, Cait." He smirked at her, that little lopsided grin that never failed to speed up her heart. "Definitely wear green."

Fingers settling on her legs, Michael's thumbs swept abstract patterns on the soft skin of her inner thighs. "So what nefarious plans did you have for me?" He asked, lightening the mood.

It was her turn to grin at him, as she rolled her hips against him. "We are going back to the beginning." She murmured her words against his lips. "I'm going to ride you until we are both exhausted."

"And what will I be doing?"

She gave him a sly smile. "Enjoying the ride."

He laughed softly. "You just don't want me to put any weight on my leg, you bossy woman."

She rolled her hips again, a little more forcefully against his growing erection. "You like it when I'm bossy."

"Most definitely," he gasped in pleasure.

She kissed him against before licking and nibbling along his jawline towards that one spot on his neck that never failed to make him moan. Head tipped back to her ministrations, Michael's clever fingers continued their slow meandering climb up her thighs. She knew the exact moment he realized that she had left off the matching panties to the negligee as a shudder ran through his body and his hands, fingers spread wide to frame her hips, stilled.

She pulled back just enough to see his expression, pleased that his eyes – even the damaged one – were wide with desire.

His thumbs, resting on the inside of her thighs, brushed lightly along the crease where her legs met more intimate areas. "Naughty Caitlin. I think I might like her even more than Bossy Caitlin."

"You do this to me."

Michael's eye gleamed with pleasure in response and his erection, now full and hard, pressed between her legs through the thin barrier of his cotton sleep pants. She rocked again just to hear his groan before sliding backwards along his thighs. She was surprised when he caught her and urged her back upwards.

"Now, Cait. We've waited too long." His gaze was intense on hers. "Forget long and slow. Ride me. Hard and fast. I want to watch you come apart."

Now it was her turn to groan, but she wouldn't deny him.

She lifted up on her knees so Michael could slide down the bed until only his upper shoulders were resting against the headboard. With one hand, he tugged down his pants just far enough to free his erection while the other guided Cait down.

He might have wanted hard and fast but she took this part as slow as possible, sliding down an inch before lifting back up, only to repeat the process. She savored the intense feeling of him filling and stretching her. Tilting forward so she could whisper in his ear, she told him in minute detail how he felt inside her – the heat, the stretch, the solid feeling of blood and muscle filling her until he was seated fully within her and Michael was lightly panting with the effort to hold still beneath her.

She clenched internal muscles and rose up on her knees before slamming back down.

Michael growled, both hands now grasping her hips. "Again," he commanded.

She rose again and they soon fell into exactly what Michael wanted, a hard fast rhythm that slicked Michael's chest with a fine sheen of sweat and set Caitlin's thighs to burning with the effort to lift herself over him.

Soon she was gasping with each downward thrust. "Michael."

His hands, which had been curled into the silk negligee over her hips slipped beneath the frothy lace, his thumbs sliding once again between her legs.

She jolted as he touched her, his thumbs pressing hard against her. "Ride me, Caitlin."

She could do nothing but obey as his thumbs, alternating against her, drove her higher.

Her head was thrown back and she could feel the beads of sweat running down the small of her back. The sounds of flesh against flesh, moans, and Michael's soft exhortations filled the room, as the scent of musk and sex and the faint hint of Michael's spicy cologne filled her nose.

Suddenly she was there, at the place where scent and sensation and feeling all come together. She snapped taunt, her head thrown back, and she rode the hard shudders that rocked her body as Michael continued to stroke her, drawing out and continuing the pleasure until only faint tremors remained.

She collapsed onto his chest, breath heaving as she fought to pull badly needed oxygen into her lungs. Eventually her breathing slowed and she sat up, only to realize that Michael was still hard within her.

"You didn't?"

"No. I was getting entirely too much enjoyment out of watching you."

As he said the words, she felt his cock twitch and she knew they were far from over for the evening.

Sitting up slightly, but keeping her seated upon him, he skimmed his hands up her body, taking the negligee up. "As pretty as this is . . ." The silk came off over her head, "You are even more beautiful."

She couldn't help the blush that rose to stain her skin. "I-"

He didn't let her protest, his fingers painting across the skin of her breasts with delicate touches that set her cooling blood racing again.

"Skin as soft as any silk." Thumbs circled her nipples. "Delicate as any lace."

She arched into his hands. "God, Michael."

His hands shifted to her waist, lifting her off of him and urging her to lie beside him. "Roll onto your side."

She arched a brow in question but did as he asked. A second later he was spooned up tight behind her. Lifting her top leg slightly, he sank himself back into her.

His teeth scrapped lightly against her ear while the hand draped over her ribs returned to her nipple. "No pressure on my knee or ribs and you utterly at my mercy."

"No mercy?" she gasped as his hips rocked forward, driving him into her at a shallow angle that had her eyes fluttering closed at the sweet friction.

Michael's dark chuckle answered her. "We've had hard and fast. _Now_ it's going to be long and slow. I promise you, mercy will be the last thing on your mind."


	17. Epilogue

**Common Ground**

 **Epilogue**

 _Co-written by Caeria and deb_

Hawke had, Michael suspected, suggested dinner at the cabin as a way of clearing the air. While Hawke might have lingering reservations about Michael's relationship with Cait, he had, for the most part, accepted it. Santini, on the other hand, was still angry. He'd said little during dinner, something well out of character for the aging Italian, and Michael had overheard him muttering something to Hawke about not knowing that _they_ were coming.

Dinner finished and dishes washed, Hawke uncorked a bottle of one of his better vintages. Michael took a seat on Hawke's couch, leaving room for Cait beside him. She was, at the moment, absently scratching Tet's head while she surreptitiously watched Santini. There was a slight frown on her face as he stepped outside the door onto Hawke's porch. The frown was quickly erased as Hawke caught her attention with a question about one of her flying students, but it was enough that Michael had seen it.

Excusing himself, he rose and followed Santini out onto the porch and then down to the dock. As Michael stepped onto the platform behind him, Santini glanced up, his surprise showing before his usual scowl of greeting appeared. Unlike times past, however, this scowl had true dislike to it rather than being the usual half-hearted and semi-automatic grumble.

"You followin' me?"

Michael braced himself against his cane. "Yes."

Again there was a flash of surprise, quickly covered. "And why would you be doing that?"

"Because you're making Caitlin unhappy, and I don't like it when Caitlin is unhappy."

That answer made Santini sputter. "I'm making Cait unhappy?"

Michael resisted the urge to sigh at Santini's obtuseness. The man needed to be handled correctly or the problem he was trying to solve would just get worse. Calling him an idiot was not the right approach, no matter how good it might feel. "From what she tells me, you've barely said two words to her in the last month. Cutting her off like that because of her relationship with me isn't fair to her. Caitlin views you as a father-figure, as family. Your active distrust of me is hurting her."

Santini folded his arms and his scowl only deepened. "There are good reasons to distrust you. For one thing, what did you do to her down at that resort?"

"Do?"

"I saw the letter Luis faked, that _Cheyenne_ supposedly wrote. It said she was leaving because you'd abused her." Santini stabbed one pudgy finger in Michael's direction. "Luis had to get that idea from somewhere."

 _Was that why Santini was being so ornery?_ "It was Cait's idea to stage a fight, so that she'd have an excuse to turn to Luis for support. She reinforced the idea that I was getting physical with her in subsequent meetings. Given the abduction that followed, we may have been a bit too convincing."

Santini harrumphed. "May have? You nearly got her sold off to the highest bidder!" He shook his head. "You aren't good enough for Cait."

Michael bowed his head slightly. "I quite agree. But she chose me and I'd be a fool to walk away from her."

"I always kind of thought–"

Abruptly falling silent, Santini didn't finish, but Michael knew where he was going. "She would have been good for him," Michael agreed, "in many of the same ways that she's good for me. But Hawke was too afraid to take that chance and it certainly wasn't fair to Cait for her to keep waiting for him to pull his head out of his ass."

Santini snorted, in agreement or amusement, Michael wasn't sure.

"You know," Michael continued, "it's your fault, yours and Hawke's, that I fell for her."

"Now wait a minute, here," Santini protested indignantly. "We didn't start this."

"Start it, no, but what you did was treat me just like you would anyone else. With your insolence and insults, you never treated me like Archangel. Part of my initial attraction to her was that she saw me as Michael, just Michael. Not as someone to be either feared or toadied to. So really, you only have yourselves to blame."

Santini seemed to ponder on that a bit and Michael felt a stirring of hope that he was finally getting through to the other man.

"You said initial attraction."

It wasn't quite a question but Michael answered it anyway. "Whether you believe it or not, I do love her, Dominic." Michael deliberately used the other man's first name. "I could list you a dozen different reasons why."

"But what the hell does she see in you?"

He let out a soft chuckle. "Damned if I know. I'm too old for her, too jaded, and too scarred, both mentally and physically, but she doesn't care about any of it. She's given me a chance at everything I never thought I'd have. I won't give it up. I won't give her up. And I'm tired of you making her unhappy. Hawke and I have found our common ground. He and Marella are working well together. In fact, I think he gives her less grief about Airwolf than he gave me. So now I need to find where our common ground is. Cait deserves that."

Santini scuffed absently at a spot where the stain was worn off of the deck. "Are you willing to swear to me that you're not trying to recruit her as one of your angels?"

"I swear." Michael hesitated, finally deciding to be completely honest. "Recruiting Cait is the furthest thing from my mind. In fact, I'd like nothing better than to pull her off of Airwolf."

" _What?_ " Santini's temper flared, and he turned to confront Michael. "You do and she'll have your head."

"You think I don't know that? Not to mention that it wouldn't be fair to her." It was Michael's turn to look away. "Given the choice, I'd rather see her far away from the Firm and that helicopter and anything else that might hurt her. Sadly, I cannot wrap her in a cocoon and protect her from everything. However, I will do whatever is in my power to keep her safe and happy, and at the moment, that means talking to you."

"I'll be damned."

Hearing the change of tone in Santini's voice, Michael turned toward him, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

"You really are in love with her, aren't you?"

"More than you could ever imagine."

"Huh." Santini eyed him once more. "So no recruiting her over to the White Side?"

"As I already told you, no."

"No breaking her heart?"

Michael shook his head. "Not if I can help it."

Santini grinned. "Cause if you do, String'll kill you and I'll help him dispose of your body."

"I would expect nothing less."

Dom thought for another minute then clapped Michael on the shoulder. "Then I think we've got our common ground." He turned toward the cabin. "Let's go see if String's got any of that fancy wine of his left."

 **THE END**

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Deb and I hope that everyone enjoyed reading the story as much as we enjoyed writing it for you.


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